One Shot Dumpster- Dame of Baker Street and Sherlock Extras
by Jade Author
Summary: This is where I'll be dumping parts from the DBS trilogy. These are the bits that didn't make it into the stories because they were weird, OOC, didn't mesh with the plot, were random, or were a dare from someone. There will be many adult themes, such as smut, self harm, etc.
1. If Jim Won

"Now stay still and don't move a muscle." Jim whispered. Sherlock looked at him flatly.

"Diaphragm." He said blandly. Jim blinked.

"Pardon?"

"My diaphragm. It's moving because I'm breathing." Sherlock said snidely. "If you're going to make nuance threats then we'll just be on our way." He spun around. "John, Madeline; let's go h-"He toppled forwards with a bang to showcase Jim standing behind him and pocketing his pistol with a sorrowful look, like he'd shot his favorite dog. Madeline made a strangled gagging sound, and John shouted something between " _no_ " and _"oh"_.

"You and your need to always have the last word." Jim said, staring down at the detective's motionless body. "In a way I saved you. Got the parasite that's been latched onto you for years by removing the host." He glared at John and Madeline, who were motionless and absolutely shell-shocked.

"Look what you forced me to do!" He demanded suddenly, pointing down at Sherlock, whose blood was leaking steadily from underneath his curls. John wanted desperately to run to his friend and inspect the wound, maybe staunch the bleeding; but he knew there was nothing he could do, even if Jim let him get close to Sherlock's body. Madeline's mouth kept opening and closing like a fish, and she watched Sherlock's blood leave his body until it touched the tips of Moriarty's brogue shoes a mere foot away.

"Now there's just one loose end to tie up- the parasites." Moriarty spat, swinging the gun around to face Madeline and John. They didn't have time to move before a gunshot made John numb. He watched in horror as Madeline wrapped her arms around her stomach in a futile effort to hold the blood from Jim's bullet wound in. Red leaked between her fingers and riveted down her body as she slowly keeled over onto the floor, heaving.

"Oh dear, seems the little damsel has fallen." Jim mused. John stared at her body, then at Sherlock's. Then he could finally move again. He stormed forward, with his head low and his hands balled into fists, ready to fight and throw as many punches as needed. Jim saw him coming from miles away and had plenty of time to heft his gun and aim it between John's eyes. He instinctually halted and made sure to stare Moriarty down. He was outgunned and terrified, but there was no way in hell he'd let the bastard know. Jim smirked and slowly lowered the gun until it was level with John's breast. The doctor brazenly stepped forward a so that the muzzle was pressed uncomfortably against his chest.

"Do it." He challenged. "I dare you to actually do it." Jim gave him an amused but mocking look and rolled his eyes to Madeline and Sherlock's bodies on the floor. Any hope John had had of saving either of them was long gone, Madeline had stopped moving, and lay motionless as her blood stained the concrete and just barely mingled with Sherlock's. The detective still didn't move, despite John's fervent hopes that he would spring up with some clever way around the truth and save the day. He dragged his eyes back to Jim.

"Do it." He growled. The criminal gave him a simpering look.

"I'll be sure to let Mary and your baby know the good news." He said lowly, pushing the gun muzzle harder against John's chest and slowly tightening the trigger as the doctor's eyes widened at the thought of his new family.

"No, wai-!" There was a muffled crack from the sound of the bullet entering John's chest and punching through layers of fat, bone, muscle, and tissue before he collapsed to the ground beside Madeline and Sherlock, dead. Jim huffed and waved the gun in the air to disperse the smoke leaking from the barrel just a bit, then he hurled it into the depths of the car park with an angry roar. He grimaced at Sherlock's body, motionless under the halogen light; and fought the urge to kick Madeline and John's bodies where they lay mere feet away from each other. After a good bit of ranting to the silence around him Moriarty composed himself. He raked his hand back through his hair in an attempt to slick it back again and brushed his suit off to the best of his ability. He cast one more look at the three bodies on the floor, his own handiwork, before curling his lip, leaving the car park, and disappearing into London in search of a new "toy".


	2. Thinking Out Loud SongFic

_When your legs don't work like they used to before._

"Sherlock, come dance with me." Madeline said, holding her hands out to him with a wide smile on her face.

 _And I can't sweep you off of your feet._

Sherlock threw her an annoyed glance over the samples he was fermenting. "And why would I do that?" He asked, "I'm working."

 _Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love._

Madeline frowned at him. "Yeah, but I saw a really cool music video. Please will you dance with me?" She pleaded. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

 _Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?_

"You and I can't dance. I thought that's already been firmly established." He pointed out.

 _And Darling I, will be loving you till we're seventy._

"Please?"

 _And Baby, my heart could still fall as hard at 23._

Sherlock rolled his eyes and made sure to turn the flame on his Bunsen burner down before conceding. Madeline gave a little squeal of excitement and rushed to turn on the song on the laptop.

 _And I'm thinking about how- people fall in love in mysterious ways._

The music was soft, and Sherlock was vaguely certain he knew who the artist was. Madeline stepped up to him and held up her hand.

 _Maybe just the touch of a hand._

Sherlock fought the urge to roll his eyes and indulged her, intertwining his fingers with hers and placing his other hand on her hip.

 _Well, me- I fall in love with you every single day. And I just wanna tell you I am._

"And now we sway." Madeline murmured, more to herself than to Sherlock. She seemed to be counting the beats of the song as if she was waiting for something. He kept quiet and let her orchestrate the tempo of their dance.

 _So honey now,_

She spun suddenly, taking Sherlock with her. He'd fallen into almost a trance from the lack of real movement, and it took a lot of clumsy effort on the detective's part to keep from trodding on Madeline's feet.

 _Take me into your loving arms._

"Sorry," She said when he opened his mouth to complain. They kept actually moving, stepping around the den of 221B in partial rhythm with the song.

 _Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars._

Sherlock noticed Madeline's mouth moving only slightly as she resumed counting the beats of the song. It grew a little louder, but the tempo was still pleasantly slow.

 _Place your head on my beating heart._

"Are you going to dance with me or will we continue to stumble about?" Sherlock demanded.

 _I'm thinking out loud._

Madeline immediately snapped to attention.

 _Maybe we found love right where we are._

"No, I mean yeah we'll dance. No to the stumbling. We're actually dancing, now." She reminded him. Sherlock kept his eyes from reaching for the ceiling with obvious effort and decided to spin Madeline.

 _When my hair's all gone and my memory fades._

Her hand on his shoulder tightened momentarily and then relaxed as she gave up trying to orchestrate the dance and let Sherlock try to waltz them around the flat.

 _And the crowds don't remember my name._

He stepped on her feet more than once, and a couple of times he banged his knee on the table in an effort to keep himself in balance with Madeline.

 _When my hands don't play the strings the same way._

He swung Madeline around suddenly when he saw that he was about to waltz her right over his violin that he'd left on the floor beside his chair.

 _I know you will still love me the same._

Madeline laughed and looked him right in the eyes, an act she'd been growing increasingly more comfortable doing.

' _Cause baby your soul could never grow old, it's evergreen._

Sherlock made a small note to himself that her pupils were dilated, and a small smile was curling the corner of her mouth in a way that he found fascinating.

 _And baby your smile's forever in my mind and memory._

Madeline felt herself grow even giddier as the song grew close to her favorite part.

 _I'm thinking 'bout how, people fall in love in mysterious ways._

She allowed herself to lean a little bit closer to Sherlock, and was secretly pleased when he let her.

 _Maybe it's all part of a plan._

She looked up at him again, and he gave her a rare smile.

 _Well I'll just keep on making the same mistakes._

She'd distracted him, and he paid the price by knocking his hip painfully on the metal frame of John's chair as they passed it.

 _Hoping that you'll understand._

"Are you okay?" Madeline asked, trying to sound sincere under a bubbling laugh. He cut his eyes to her. "I'm fine," He snapped.

 _That baby now…_

Madeline's eyes widened. "This is my favorite part!" She squealed. "I need you to pick me up and spin me!" That took Sherlock aback.

 _Take me into your loving arms._

"Why?" He asked.

 _Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars._

"Sherlock Holmes, spin me around or I'll move your Petri dishes in the pantry." Madeline demanded.

 _Place your head on my beating heart._

Sherlock quickly looped his arms around Madeline's waist and hoisted her up with a little bit of effort. She balanced herself by bracing her hands on his shoulders and grinned down at him.

 _Thinking out loud._

Sherlock concentrated on not running her head into the ceiling fan.

 _Maybe we found love right where we are._

He was so focused that he didn't realize the coffee table was right behind him, so when he bumped into it he completely let go of Madeline as he fell.

 _So baby, now._

Her hands on his shoulders instinctively latched onto his shirt, turning the detective awkwardly. Luckily Sherlock was in a direct line with the couch, so when Madeline fell she landed on the cushions on her back.

 _Take me into your loving arms._

Unfortunately Sherlock came down after her; and he landed on her stomach with quite a bit of force, even though he tried to angle himself away.

 _Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars._

Madeline caught her breath, wheezing a little bit. "You're so damn bony," She told Sherlock. "I think you broke one of my ribs."

 _Oh darling, place your head on my beating heart._

"You'll be fine," Sherlock told her, repositioning himself so that he was braced above her in a truly awkward fashion.

 _I'm thinking out loud._

"I made sure to fall in a way that wouldn't hurt you." He explained smugly, noting that Madeline's pupils were still dilated so she couldn't have been in severe pain.

 _But maybe we found love right where we are._

Madeline leaned up and kissed the detective on the mouth. He was a bit startled- he'd intended to be the one to start the kiss- but it was welcome all the same.

 _Oh baby we found love right where we are._

Sherlock leaned down and kissed her back, and he could feel Madeline smile underneath his lips as the song drew to a close.

 _And we found love right where we are._


	3. Flies and Honey

It was uncomfortable. Madeline shifted and resisted the urge to pull the dress's neckline higher. She was cold, but Sherlock adamantly refused to lend her his jacket.

"That would ruin the illusion." He had told her. Madeline huffed and rubbed her arms to try and keep herself warm. She knew Sherlock was nearby, but she was supposed to feign waiting for him until the suspect took notice.

"And that could be all damn day." She muttered under her breath. The sun was quickly setting, bringing temperatures down with it. Madeline stayed at the spot Sherlock had told her to and waited in the snowdrifts by the road. After a while she began humming to herself until her phone buzzed.

 _ **Stop humming. –SH**_ She texted him back quickly.

 _ **How close are you?**_

 _ **Close enough. –SH**_ Madeline rolled her eyes and waited a few more minutes until the street was fully lit with the glow of the nightlife. The restaurant across the street was starting to amass a waiting queue. It was one of the fancier places that required reservations.

 _ **When is this guy coming?**_ She sent the text and waited, covertly watching couples and parties pass her on the sidewalk and trying to ignore the looks they gave her as she stood alone in a formal dress with barely any sleeves.

One man gave her an exceptionally long and curious look as he passed her that lingered a bit too long for Madeline's liking. Her phone buzzed, and when she reached to check it an arm looped around her waist. She pulled away instinctively, but stopped when Sherlock chuckled.

"Excellent, keep perpetrating the idea we hate each other." He murmured into her ear. "He's still watching you." Madeline quickly pulled a face as Sherlock walked her to the entrance of the restaurant, making sure the entire line of people waiting in the queue could see. Sherlock waltzed her to the front of the line and said "Holmes." very loudly. The gentleman at the door flipped through his reservation list, then admitted them. Madeline let Sherlock escort her inside the restaurant and away from the disgruntled glares of the other people in line.

They were seated at a small table. The waiter brought them glasses of water first, then came back with a wine menu.

"I'm fine." Madeline told him with a smile.

"We'll take a Bordeaux," Sherlock interrupted her coolly, "And leave the bottle." The waiter nodded and left, and Madeline leaned onto the table and pressed her face into her hand.

"God no." She said, "You're not going to make me drink, are you?" Sherlock gave her a blank look.

"Keep your lips pressed together and only take small, occasional sips. I never said you had to down the whole bottle yourself." He said. His eyes darted over her shoulder, diligently tracking someone's movement across the dining room. Madeline resisted the urge to turn around and see if it was the man who had been looking at her earlier.

"That's him." Sherlock murmured to her lowly. "Laugh." Madeline blinked at him for a second, but giggled nervously when he raised his eyebrows at her. He rolled his eyes. "Laugh like you _don't_ mean it." He chastised. Madeline laughed with a bit of a forced tone, not taking her eyes from the tablecloth.

"Excellent, he's looking this way." Sherlock notified her. "And here comes the wine." The waiter poured both of them a first glass of wine, then left. Sherlock quickly downed his and Madeline gently rolled the stem of her wine glass between her fingers indecisively.

"Drink." The detective demanded loudly. Madeline glared at him and took a sip of her wine. It was heavy and bitter, and she didn't like it at all. Sherlock made a show of reaching for the bottle of wine and filling his glass far past the appropriate level. Some of the alcohol sloshed out of the wine glass and stained the pristine tablecloth. Madeline could feel the room heating up.

"You're being embarrassing." She hissed at him.

"Good." The detective responded carelessly, and Madeline could only hope that everything was part of his plan. The waiter came back to take their orders, but Sherlock waved him off.

"You know, I realized something." He said a bit too loudly. Madeline felt like sinking down in her chair, no doubt half the restaurant was looking at them. Sherlock took a large gulp of the wine and she hoped that his alcohol tolerance had gotten better than it had been after John's stag party.

"Ask me what I realized." He ordered obnoxiously, pointing at her with the hand that was holding the almost empty cup of wine.

"What did you realize?" Madeline almost whispered. He'd gone from zero to a hundred much too fast for her to keep up, and instead of being on board with the plan she just wanted to leave. Too many people were looking over and Sherlock's plan was working too well. She risked a glance around and saw that most of the diners were actually ignoring them, but the man from earlier was watching them over his breadbasket cautiously. Sherlock leaned across the table and pretended to kiss Madeline's cheek.

"Excellent, now he thinks you need help." He said.

"I do, tone it down a bit." She whispered, but Sherlock was already sitting back in his chair.

"And look at you, you've put on so much weight!" He said loudly. Madeline bit the inside of her cheek and reminded herself that he was acting the role of an offensive drunk.

"He'd better be." She muttered to herself.

"Sorry, what? Muttering under your breath again? You're most definitely good for nothing besides gossip." Sherlock said obnoxiously, giving up on pouring himself more wine and swigging straight from the bottle. Madeline masked her horrified expression by covering her face with her hands; no doubt her face was as red as the wine.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask that you leave." The waiter said, regarding both Madeline and Sherlock carefully. Madeline stood, ready to go; but Sherlock took a ridiculous amount of coaxing to rise from his seat and another bout of arguing to put down the wine bottle. He leaned on Madeline's shoulder heavily as she escorted him out of the restaurant, a complete reverse of how they'd entered.

"Thanks for ruining another place to have dinner." She told him under her breath. "Now we can never come back."

"Their wine is overpriced anyway!" Sherlock exclaimed, making it as hard as he could for Madeline to get him out the door. As soon as they were in the street the detective dropped the act.

"Don't be cross." He said, "I told you what the plan was beforehand." He still leaned on Madeline's shoulder to maintain the air that he couldn't stand; but he seemed to be perfectly sound.

"How are you not drunk off your rocker?" Madeline asked him incredulously.

"Yeast." Sherlock said simply. "I swallowed a few spoonfulls of baker's yeast before I left Baker Street. It breaks down alcohol similar to how your liver would. An excellent trick to stave off alcohol."

"I still think you're going to be incredibly smashed in the morning." Madeline told him. The detective laughed softly and didn't remove his weight from her shoulder.

"Excuse me! Miss!" A voice called from behind them. Sherlock's charitable expression dropped into a serious look.

"Here he comes, be on your guard." He murmured into Madeline's ear. "You have your phone." He forcibly dug his feet into the ground, stopping Madeline, and turned them both around to face the stranger, still feigning being drunk.

"And who are you?" The detective demanded loudly. The man held up his hands warily.

"You just looked like you needed some help getting home." He said amicably. "And I didn't think it would be safe for you-"His eyes darted to Madeline. "To go home alone in such a state." She couldn't help but feel touched by his kind words and sincerity, despite Sherlock's sober warnings. She opened her mouth to speak, but Sherlock silenced her by clamping his hand over her mouth.

"Shh, your opinion isn't needed." He slurred before turning to the man. "And what's your name?"

"Kane Anderson," The stranger said, sticking his hand out. Sherlock stared at it disdainfully while Madeline shrugged his hand off of her mouth and shook Kane's politely.

"Very nice to meet you." She said.

"Did I say it was nice to meet him?" Sherlock asked, turning and glaring at her. Kane stepped forward.

"Maybe we should get you home." He said seriously. Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he pushed himself away from Madeline. She stumbled and caught herself.

"I know where I am." He boasted. "I'm heading back to the flat. You stay and walk with this riff-raff if you want. Shezza _out_." Finished, the detective turned and stumbled away down the street. Madeline resisted the sudden urge to laugh at him and instead bit her cheek and sighed to cover it.

"Wow, your man's kind of a git." Kane said.

"He has his redeeming moments." Madeline said, then she quickly remembered she wasn't supposed to be on good terms with the detective and cleared her throat. "His drinking has gotten a bit out of hand, though." Sherlock had turned the corner at the end of the street, but Madeline knew he was loitering around and listening. He wouldn't just leave.

"Would you like to walk?" Kane offered, "It'd give him a chance to put some distance between the two of you; get a head start." Madeline hummed a disbelieving sound that he took as an agreement, and they set off.

"So what is he, your beau or something?" Kane asked good naturedly.

"My fiancée, actually." Madeline responded. She was finding it harder and harder to remember that he was a criminal. He was so charming and polite.

 _So was Moriarty_. She reminded herself, shivering at the thought. Kane immediately removed his jacket and threw it around her shoulders, surprising her and making her very grateful for the extra warmth.

"Sorry to pry, but are you sure you feel up to going back to your flat?" He asked, "I've known drunk guys to get a little violent." Madeline stopped for a second, then gave Kane what she hoped was a pleasant smile.

"Yeah, that's happened before." She lied, "To tell you the truth I'd rather stay away from the flat till morning when he's hungover, then go back and make a lot of noise." She and Kane laughed together, then kept walking in the soft snow.

"You know, you could crash at my flat for the night and then take a cab back to wherever you live." He offered charitably. Madeline caught her breath. Sherlock had told her to accept his offer when it came.

" _He lives in Kensington."_ He'd told her when he was briefing her in 221B, _"It'll be a lovely flat, and I'll be following the whole way."_ He'd said more, but she couldn't remember it all.

"You know what, that would be brilliant." Madeline answered, flashing Kane a smile. He gently looped her arm with his and guided her to the nearest Tube station. They got on and took the train east towards South Kensington. Madeline waited patiently as the train met its stops, but felt a small spike of panic when she and Kane didn't get off at the Kensington stop.

"I love Kensington Gardens." She said pointedly, "The Peter Pan statue is always one of my favorites." Kane smiled at her kindly.

"And what brought this conversation on?" He asked, Madeline nodded at the Kensington sign and he grinned.

"My favorite part of the gardens is the bike trails. I wish there were more, but what can you do?" He shrugged, and Madeline laughed with him to try and hide the anxiety making her heart speed up. They rode the Tube all the way to Cannon Street, and then got off. Madeline resisted the urge to call Sherlock and make sure he knew they hadn't gotten off at South Kensington; but didn't want to draw suspicion from Kane.

"Thinking about your fiancée?" He asked her, noticing her stressed look. Madeline blinked.

"Yeah, I hope he doesn't trash the flat again while I'm out." She said, a little proud for thinking on her feet, but more nervous about where Kane was taking her. He led her to a nice apartment building, then down the stairs to a flat that vaguely mimicked 221C and unlocked the door for her. Madeline stepped in ahead of him and heard the door click shut behind her. Her chest felt tight, and she immediately regretted agreeing to help Sherlock corner Kane. As nice as he seemed, it wasn't nice enough to ease her distress.

"What's wrong?" Kane asked her, "You look really panicked." Madeline decided to give up.

"I think I left our stove on! Oh my God, I hope the flat isn't up in flames…' She made to move to the door, but Kane stopped her by stepping in front of her and gently holding his hands up.

"It's okay, your fiancée can turn it off when he gets home." He said.

"But he'll destroy the place." Madeline whispered, trying to find excuses to leave.

"I don't think so. He seems more like a loud drunk thank a destructive one." Kane replied calmly.

"All the same, I want to go home and check on him." Madeline said, putting what she thought was a reasonable amount of force behind her words. Kane's smile faded, and he leaned against the door with his arms crossed. His face looked cold, a sudden change from the kindness he'd been showing earlier in the evening.

"I was wondering how stupid you thought I was." He said flatly, "To not recognize Sherlock Holmes when I see him? I mean come on, he even used his real name on the reservations list."

"What?" Madeline asked, trying to play dumb instead of giving anything away. Kane rolled his eyes.

"Really, come on. I'm not daft." He snapped, "He's taken a case and is trying to get me turned in to Scotland Yard, isn't he?"

"I don't- I don't know." Madeline answered truthfully, Sherlock had only told her vague details. She felt the panic in her chest expand when she remembered that Sherlock didn't know where she was. She'd been worried before when she was only a little intimidated by Kane; but with him blocking her only exit in a small anonymous flat her anxiety and fear doubled. She took a little relief in knowing the detective would keep looking for her, but felt her heart skip a beat when she thought about becoming his next murder case.

Kane stepped forward, and Madeline instinctively backed away. She knew better than to let a questionable character get too close- her experiences with Moriarty, Antonio, and Magnussen had made sure of that.

"I guess he wanted to use you as bait?" He said, "He probably knows my M.O., so he gave me a pretty lady in a dress." Madeline's ears were buzzing too loudly to acknowledge what Kane was saying.

" _He's dangerous."_ Sherlock had said. He'd said something else before they'd left Baker Street, but she couldn't remember.

But _how_ dangerous?

Kane stepped forward again, and Madeline bolted. He was blocking the front door, so she turned and sprinted farther into the flat and hoped there was a back exit. She turned down a small hallway off of the reception room, and panicked when it ended with a towel closet and branched off into three other rooms. She had enough time to try and open one of the rooms and find it locked before Kane caught up to her. He got incredibly close, backing Madeline into one of the other doors. She'd kept his jacket clutched in one of her hands when she'd darted away, and quickly threw it in his face as a distraction. He stepped back instinctively, and she ducked under his arm and ran back down the hallway.

"Help!" She shouted. She made it to the front door and tried to open it; but it was locked. She rushed to one of the nearby windows on ground level and tried to open it, only to find that it had been sealed shut. Kane attacked her from behind, smashing her head forward into the window sash and then pulling her backwards by her hair. Madeline was thoroughly stunned, and her world was a spinning kaleidoscope of stars and flashing lights. Her ears were ringing loudly, and her scalp stung. Kane hauled her back down the hallway and kicked open one of the doors that wasn't locked and threw her in. Then he followed and shut the door behind him. Madeline was able to push herself up and scramble to her feet as she tried to make sense of the new room.

She could see a twin-sized bed pushed against the wall but still protruding into the middle of the room and noted the four cuffs attached to each post of the bed. Her heartbeat kicked up again, and as Kane approached she sprang away from him and rolled to the other side of the bed. He started around the foot of the bed, but she made to spring to the other side again and he retreated back to his side of the room. She did the same.

Kane tried to lunge at her directly across the mattress, but she jumped to the side with a shriek and ran to the door. She was able to throw it open, and made it into the hallway before Kane's arm looped around her throat- the same one that had been around her waist not even an hour before- and pulled her back into the room. Madeline's eyes were watering, and she made a mental note to try and play dead if he tried to lift her. Kane tried to throw Madeline onto the bed, but missed and tossed her to the ground with a thud. She gasped at the sudden influx of air into her lungs, but choked again when she saw what Kane had picked up from somewhere in the room.

He had a knife.

She scrambled backwards on the ground until she hit the far wall, watching him slowly walk towards her with the knife in her hand. She vaguely remembered the knife Moriarty had used under Parliament and when he'd held her and John captive in a car park. The memory brought back even more waves of terror, and Madeline almost hoped that her adrenaline would stop her heart before Kane could. Something crashed, and she saw someone rush into the bedroom behind Kane. He spun and raised the knife, but it was quickly knocked from his hand as his legs were swiftly kicked out from underneath him. Sherlock kicked him viciously in the ribs and kept his gun trained on the man's forehead.

"Madeline! Are you alright?" He called over his shoulder.

"No." She said feebly, garnering her a concerned look from the detective as he quickly read her and scanned her for injuries. Her temple was bleeding and her throat was red; but she didn't seem to have any major injuries and Kane hadn't hurt her too badly. Sherlock stepped on Kane's chest and leaned forward slightly, putting most of his weight on the two ribs he'd just cracked in the man's side.

"The police will be here shortly." He spat, "Don't move." He stepped away from him and quickly turned to Madeline, who was sitting stunned against the far wall.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" He asked, crouching down to her level. Madeline gestured to her head and neck wordlessly and Sherlock shook his head.

"No, he didn't _hurt_ you, did he?" He asked more urgently. She blinked at him blankly, then remembered the piece of information she'd forgotten.

" _He's been accused of multiple assault and rape cases." Sherlock said seriously. "Are you sure you want to assist in this case?" Madeline looked up from her book nonchalantly, pulling herself from her reverie._

" _Yeah sure," She said, "Whatever you say."_

"Oh… no. I'm fine." She said. "No really, I'm fine. He didn't touch me. I mean, like that." She elaborated when Sherlock gave her a distrustful look. She could hear the usual police sirens approaching and let her shoulders sag with relief. Sherlock pulled her to her feet and let her lean on his shoulder while she walked off her daze and headache. Kane was still on the ground, wheezing and clutching at his side as Sherlock escorted Madeline from the room.

"I was worried you wouldn't find us." Madeline told him. "When we didn't get off at Kensington I thought something was up." Sherlock's expression looked grim.

"I didn't leave you," He said. "Not for a moment. I was on the Tube a few carriages down from you, I would have seen you leave if you'd gotten off at Kensington. I'd also hypothesized that Kane would have a separate abode for his- _activities_." Sherlock made no attempt to hide the disgust and malice in his voice, and Madeline was too tired to respond.

Sherlock had her sit on the steps of the apartment building while he talked to Lestrade and his accompanying agents to explain the situation; and when he saw Madeline shivering in her dress he finally took off his coat and gave it to her.


	4. Sick Day

**A.N.- I've been stockpiling this fluff stuff for a while, and now that I'm going through writer's block, I'm writing more of it. This one is old, but I will tell you I'm working on a Victorian!DBS piece to put in this story. (And Sherlock is going to be gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.)**

 **Anyway.**

"You need to get up."

"No."

"Get up."

" _No_. That's not how being sick works!" Madeline snapped hoarsely. She rolled over and pulled the sheets up to her nose. Sherlock frowned.

"You need to get up and work through it. That's the best way to get through a bout of something." He said. Madeline rolled over and glared at him from under the sheet.

"When was the last time you were sick?" She demanded. "It's really not that easy." She tried to inhale through her nose, but wound up in a coughing fit and had to sit up in bed to get it to subside. Sherlock panicked and brought her a cup of water that she graciously accepted.

"Do we have any medicine in the kitchen?" Madeline asked. Sherlock winced.

"I may or may not have used the cold and pain medicines in the cabinets for experiments." He said. "You didn't need them, and I didn't need them, so I put them to use!" He said in defense when Madeline glared at him. She didn't have the energy to maintain her glower for long, her head began to pound and she had to lie back down with a groan.

"I'll run to the nearest Tesco and buy some, then." Sherlock said.

"Yeah you do that." Madeline murmured, already rolling over and ready to go back to sleep. Sherlock left quickly, leaving Madeline in the blissful silence of 221B. After a while, Sherry hopped onto the bed and Madeline held the covers up so the cat could curl up against her chest. Madeline dozed on and off while Sherry purred quietly.

She couldn't tell how long Sherlock had been gone, but it seemed like hours. She kicked the covers back when she felt her fever returning. Madeline reached for the glass of water Sherlock had left by the bedside and downed the rest of it, then dozed off again. When she woke up, she was burning. She stumbled out of bed and only made it as far as the bathroom. She refilled the cup in the bathroom sink and then staggered back into the bedroom and collapsed into bed with black spots and stars flashing in her eyes and a ringing sound in her ears. She waited a few minutes, then rolled to the other side of the bed to grab her phone. She quickly sent Sherlock a text.

 _ **Hey, can you grab some cough drops 2?**_ His reply pinged back a minute later.

 _ **Of course. –SH**_

 _ **I like the pink ones. Can you get those?**_

 _ **I will. –SH**_

Madeline dropped her phone and sighed, then shivered and pulled the covers back over her body again. Sherry jumped off of the bed and stalked off, leaving Madeline alone. She fell into a restless sleep again until she woke up sweating and with her head feeling like it was stuffed full of cotton. She drank the rest of the water she'd gotten earlier; but that didn't really help. Madeline tried to sit up and get out of the bed again to get more water from the bathroom, but her head suddenly felt like it was in a vice and the entire room spun. She collapsed back into the bed, and when she could see clearly again she picked up her phone and texted Sherlock.

 _ **Sherlock.**_ He didn't answer immediately, so she texted him again.

 _ **Sherlock.**_

 _ **Hey. Sherlock.**_

 _ **I need you.**_

 _ **Sherlock I need you to do something.**_

 _ **Hello?**_

 _ **HEY.**_

 _ **HELP ME.**_

 _ **I'M DYING.**_

 _ **SHERLOCK.**_

She continued to text him until she began to feel cold again and her exhaustion overtook her need for more water. She fell back asleep, and stayed asleep until fifteen minutes later when Sherlock burst into the flat with multiple Tesco bags in hand and a murderous expression.

"What happened?" He demanded, scaring Madeline awake. She sat up in bed quickly and groaned when her body protested against moving so fast.

"W- nothing happened." She said. The detective dropped the Tesco bags on the bed and pulled out his phone.

"Then you didn't text me all of these?" He asked dryly. Madeline laid back down.

"Sorry, you weren't answering. I was trying to text you and see if you could get me some more water. I couldn't get out of bed." She told him. The detective rolled his eyes and grabbed the empty glass from the bedside table, then returned and handed it to Madeline.

"I wouldn't have been able to grab water for you even if I had received your texts." He said, "I was miles away." She shrugged and thanked him for the water, then went into another coughing fit. Sherlock helped her sit up and waited quietly until her coughing had subsided, then passed her one of the Tesco bags. She pulled out multiple bottles of cough syrup, packets of acetaminophen and motrin, and bags upon bags of cough drops. There was even a random bottle of PeptoBismol.

"You said you liked the pink ones; but there were many pink ones, so I got two of each kind I could find." He told her. Madeline smiled at him.

"You're amazing." She told him softly. "I absolutely love you." Sherlock threw Sherry a smug look as the cat stalked back into the room and hopped onto the bed.

"I'd kiss you, but I don't want to get you sick." Madeline said, opening up some of the medicine Sherlock had bought and taking a dose to help with her headache and sinuses. Then she unwrapped a cough drop and held it in her mouth. Sherlock shrugged, still smug as a peacock.

"I wouldn't mind." He said offhandedly. Madeline laughed.

"Yeah no. I can't imagine trying to take care of you when you're sick. I'd have to call Mycroft for tips." She teased, laughing at the bitter look that crossed Sherlock's face. "You're more than welcome to lay down and talk with me, though." She offered, patting the other side of the bed and knowing full well that the detective would have a terrible headcold in a few days' time.


	5. SongFic Challenge (10 Songs, 3 Minutes)

**A.N.- So my LOVELY friend, RomeoBlack123 challenged me to do a songfic/ oneshot thing. (And I swore to myself I'd NEVER do songfics OR oneshots. So here is a short compilation of completely Sherlock challenge results. I'd recommend having YouTube open so you can listen to the songs while you read these.**

 **Rules:**

 **Pick a character, pairing, or fandom**

 **Put your playlist on shuffle**

 **Write one-shots or whatever based on the first ten songs that play (One for every song)**

 **You only have until the song is over to write, if it ends and you're not done- tough luck. Move on with the shuffle.**

 **Post it for the world to see!**

 **Enjoy, guys. I should have the newest chapter for DBS up soon. Thanks for the support!**

Sherlock Music Challenge:

 **Maps, Maroon 5-** "Sherlock, where did you go…" John mused, wandering around London aimlessly. His flatmate had disappeared again, leaving the doctor alone to follow his footsteps again. "Good Lord, Sherlock. He's got to quit doing this." He muttered to himself, stopping by a map of the tube system and trying to think of where the detective could have gone. "He's just gone." John mumbled irately, turning to go back to Baker Street. A flash of purple and black caught his eye as they swished in synchronization around a corner. John began to sprint after the colors quickly, and he barreled around the corner without thinking and bumped into Sherlock Holmes.

"What are you doing?"

 **Happy, C2C (From Ride Along)-** Moriarty swung the gun around his finger joyfully, surveying all of London laid out before him.

"All mine," He sang giddily to himself. "But what to do…" He sighed and pulled out his phone, scrolling through all the programs he had saved over the years. This one could shut down Parliament's power for a couple hours, and this one could make Big Ben's hands spin counterclockwise. Moriarty grinned, those were all well and good; but what would be really fun… he typed the number into his phone and held it to his ear.

"Hello?" Someone said coldly from the other end. The criminal couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "OH Sherlock! We haven't played a game in a while; I think you might be just as bored as I am." He chortled, there was a little silence on the other line before Sherlock answered with a simple. "The game is on." And hung up. Moriarty smiled, so it was.

 **Wop, J-Dash-** Mycroft checked to make sure his drapes were closed and locked his door securely. Then he carefully leaned his umbrella against the wall and turned on the radio. The music had a nice, lively beat; one that someone could dance to. Sherlock's housekeeper had been bumbling on about something called Zumba lately, dancing to music and losing weight. The elder Holmes frowned and began to move jerkily to the beat, after a few minutes he began to really get into it. _Drop it to the floor, now lean in._ Mycroft was about to turn around when his assistant opened the door that was _supposed_ to be locked.

"Sir?" She said, Mycroft spun around and in synchronization with the music passed his hand in front of his face and shouted, "Damn, she fine!" Before resuming his dance. His assistant quietly shut the door and retreated, he had been under a lot of stress lately. Quite a lot.

 **Bad Day (Alvin and the Chipmunks Version)-** John stared out of the window aimlessly. Sherlock had left him. Permanently. No coming back. There was nothing left. Rain began to knock on the glass before it decided to come down in sheets of driving water. It was depressing, but he couldn't take it seriously. He kept imagining Sherlock would burst through his door ranting about the newest case or his boredom. John almost missed the random gunshots his roommate would fire at their wall to vent. "I miss you, you git." He muttered, staring out the window blankly. His eyes might have been wrong, but someone was in the backyard.

 **Disturbia, (Cover sung by the Cab)-** Sherlock was reeling. The pain was shooting through his mind and body simultaneously with more force than lightning. _Mind palace, mind palace._ He thought. The room around him began to dissolve, but it did nothing to stop the pain radiating from the bullet wound. Sherlock jolted awake in his mind palace and tried to stumble his way down the winding hallways. _I made this place too big._ He thought bitterly as he tried to pull himself up the many flights of stairs lining his mind palace. He crawled to the one room where he knew he'd be safe and slammed the door, bolting it shut behind him.

"Hi!" Someone said brightly, he turned and saw Moriarty smiling vacantly at him with a dreamy look pasted across his eyes. "Fancy seeing you here." The criminal mused. Sherlock couldn't find the strength to answer, all he could do was pant breathlessly on the floor as Moriarty leaned closer to him. "What are you gonna do, Sherlock?" He cooed, "Looks to me like you're out of options."

 **You Belong to Me, Cobra Starship-** "Sherlock, what do you want in your tea?" Madeline called to him, "I'm about to leave, so I'll leave a pot of that or coffee on the stove for you, okay?" She said. Sherlock didn't answer her, so she stepped into the living room and frowned at him curled up on his chair with his violin cradled in his arms.

"I know you can hear me." Madeline said sternly, the least you could do is acknowledge me." Sherlock looked at her suddenly with his pale blue eyes. "I don't see why you have to go." He said childishly, Madeline did her best to keep the smile from her lips and tried to remain firm. "Because I have work, and I belong at work right now." She turned back t the kitchen to finish making the tea when she heard a ruffle of cloth behind her and strong arms wrapped around her from behind. "No, you don't." Sherlock said. "You belong to me." Madeline smiled and turned her head slightly to the left to look at him, but she was met by a soft cool pair of lips. She was surprised for a moment, then kissed him back. "Like I said," Sherlock purred, "You belong to me."

 **Stop Me When You've Had Enough, Nural-** "Had enough?" Moriarty cooed, striding in big circles around the chair, Sherlock raised his head with a groan and did his best to give Jim a cold glare. "You can't break me." He muttered. Moriarty smiled, "No, probably not in this way. You're an addict, so naturally you've got your addiction. How about this?" He stepped out of the room and pulled John into the harsh light. He was pale and seemed to have a black eye, although it could have just been the bad lighting. Sherlock's pulse began to hammer, and a small flicker of fear began to creep across his features. "Let him go." He said dangerously. Moriarty shrugged and smiled, rolling his eyes at the same time. "Do what I say, Sherlock, then maybe I will." Sherlock hung his head defeatedly. "Fine."

 **S.O.S** , **The Jonas Brothers** \- Mary smiled, John looked absolutely grand. His moustache was a little unnerving, but it was something she had learned to live with. "Ere is your 'vine, sir." The waiter said with a heavy French accent. He seemed to be paying a lot of attention to John, and Mary noticed him blinking "S.O.S." at her with his eyes, something they had worked out to do to each other in a tense social situation. "I don't think we'll want any." Mary said politely, the waiter coughed and nudged John's shoulder. The doctor looked up a little irately, still blinking S.O.S., then froze.

 **Defying Gravity, Idina Menzel and Christen Chenowith-** "I hope you're happy." John said, "I hope you're happy, too." Sherlock growled back. "I hope you're happy right now." They both shouted at each other. "You can have all you ever wanted, Sherlock." John coaxed, the detective took a deep breath and sighed. "I know, but I don't want it anymore. Something has changed within me, something isn't the same. I'm no longer playing by Moriarty's games. It's too late to guess again, too late go back to sleep. John just trust me; I have to leave." He put one foot on the ledge, and John stepped forward. "Can't I make you understand, you're having delusions of grandeur…" "It comes at much too high a cost!" Sherlock shouted, "I'm defying gravity, and you can't pull me down." John shook his head hopelessly, "Unlimited," Sherlock whispered, "Together we're unlimited." "If we work in tandem." John supplied. "There's no fight we can't win." They chorused. "They'll never bring us down," Sherlock said. "I hope you're happy, not that you're choosing this. I hope you get it and you don't live to regret it." John said quietly. "I hope you're happy, my friend." Sherlock stepped onto the ledge. "So if you care to find me, look to the Eastern sky. Someone told me lately that everyone deserves a chance to die. And nobody in all of London, no one that is or was will ever bring me down!" He leaned forward, his feet leaving the building ledge. "Down!" Moriarty sang.

 **OAH, Alexander Rybak-** "Go away, Sherlock." John snapped, "Oh John; come on!" The detective pleaded. "No, quit following me." The doctor rebutted. "John," Sherlock said, kneeling down on one knee awkwardly. "I love you, you're way too young for me, but I don't mind. You're fine- no, you will be fine. Damnit." He filed through his pockets for a second before pulling out a rumpled paper. "So tell me what I want to hear. Ah, no wait- leave that there. Um, John-" Sherlock started again. "You know I'm no good for you, but uh- God, I don't know what to do." John turned around dismissively, but Sherlock jumped to his feet. "Don't run away, you're what's left of me. I once believed you could save my soul, John." He said. "No need to hesitate, because you'll be fine." John turned around and gave his flatmate a warm and welcoming smile. Sherlock felt accomplishment run through his bones, and let a rare smile climb across his face as John opened his mouth to respond. "No, I'm not gay. Jesus."


	6. Tumblr Request- For the Case

"I'm not doing this." John growled.

"It's for work, John. My God belt up and do it." Sherlock retorted. His flatmate folded his arms over the nightdress Sherlock had commandeered from Mrs. Hudson for the evening.

"I hate you." The doctor grumbled. Sherlock unlocked the door to their flat and cracked a window innocuously.

"This killer preys on married couples in their beds. Lestrade and I agreed this is the best way to lure the killer in and capture him." He said irately.

"Why not recruit Molly or Agent Donovan to do this with you? Or hell, even Mrs. Hudson." John groused. Sherlock rolled his eyes and began to unbutton his shirt with his back to his flatmate but left his black trousers on. The detective flopped onto his bed and after a moment pulled the covers over his head. John tried to mute the curses he wanted to shout at his flatmate and against his better judgment climbed into the bed with him. Sherlock was already out cold.

 _Gotta stay awake. Find the killer. Then go to my room._ He chanted in a slow mantra, determined not to give in to sleep; but soon John closed his eyes only for a second to rest and fell asleep with his back to Sherlock's.

"Sherlock." Someone whispered. The detective cracked one eye open blearily at the noise and groaned. Something shifted behind him and his hand shot out for the gun he had stowed on his bedside table. "Sherlock," Someone said again, although it sounded more like a strained groan than a quiet whisper. The detective bolted upright in bed and panned his gun around the room, surveying for threats but finding none. He was about to go back to sleep when he heard it again.

"God Sherlock, yes." Sherlock swept his gun up and around the room. His eyes dropped down to check on John, who was tossing and turning like someone had placed tacks underneath him. The detective slowly replaced his gun onto his bedside table; he's never heard John make such ridiculous and primal sounding noises before. The doctor rolled over with a low moan and murmured Sherlock's name again. The detective felt all the blood drain from his face at once. There was no way…

John moaned again, and Sherlock became increasingly uncomfortable about being in the same bed as his flatmate. John raised his hips with a whine and rolled over, and Sherlock decided something had to be done. He reached over and poked John's cheek rather roughly until the doctor opened his eyes warily to look at him.

"John, subdue your nightmares. The killer might be scared away by them." Sherlock stated dryly. John stayed still for a second before flailing out of the bed with a yelp. He stood abruptly and strode from Sherlock's bedroom, hating the way the nightdress fell around his hips to reveal every contour and bulge he had. Sherlock laid back in the bed confidently and made himself comfortable. John would be back, after all his dilated pupils and heart rate had said everything.


	7. Bar Fight

"He's gone off and done it again. John, I don't know where he is." Madeline told him breathlessly. John felt his eyebrows knit.

"Hold on, hold on… what?"

"He's gone." Madeline told him. "He ditched me at Piccadilly."

"Okay. Okay, okay hang on." John ran his fingers through his hair and spun in a tight circle. "Did he say anything about where he might have gone?" He could hear Madeline hum on the other end of the line as she thought to herself.

"He- oh no." John felt himself grow cold with the apprehension her tone brought on.

"Where? Where is he?" He urged.

"He went to East End." Madeline said. "He was talking about going to one of the pub." John groaned into his fist and quickly came up with a plan.

"Alright, do you think you can head over to East End safely? The sun isn't down yet so it's not too dangerous. Did Sherlock specify which bar?" He asked.

"Yeah- I mean no. He didn't say which bar, but yeah I'll hop on the Tube." Madeline explained hurriedly. "Will you meet me there?"

"I'm already on my way," John said, pinning his phone to his shoulder with his chin as he shrugged on his coat with both hands. "I'll meet you by the Upney station. Stay there and don't talk to anyone." He warned. "And keep your phone in your hand." The call was already flatlining, and John could only hope Madeline had heard his last remark.

"Mary, I'm going to East End. Put Amelia to bed." He called, shoving his gun into his waistband and making sure his jacket covered it. Mary stepped into the mudroom.

"It's Sherlock again, isn't it?" She stated rather than asked. John nodded, and his wife quickly kissed him on the cheek.

"You've got your gun?"

"Yep."

"And your mobile?" He nodded again. "Don't let him get hurt." Mary told him sternly, reaching up to kiss her doctor again.

"Mary, I've got to go." John said impatiently. He kissed her back and quickly left for the chilly night outside. He kept his head down and walked quickly, and could only hope that he didn't look suspicious. He hopped on the Tube at the White City station, and then transferred into the Green line at Algate East. When he stepped out of Upney, he did a quick scan of the street and felt a surge of panic when he didn't see Madeline waiting for him.

"John," She said by his ear. It took the doctor every last ounce of self-control to keep from whipping around and instinctively pulling his gun on her. Madeline jumped back, and John closed his eyes briefly.

"Have you seen or heard from Sherlock?" He asked. Madeline shook her head and he frowned.

"Great. So we're going to go nitpicking every pub and tavern on the East Side looking for one detective who wants to fight everybody." He muttered to himself.

"He doesn't want to fight everyone," Madeline admonished. John raised an eyebrow. Then he grabbed her arm and they set off quickly down the street.

"Have you tried calling him?" John asked in a hushed voice, like he was afraid the buildings would hear him.

"I did before I got on the Tube, and again while I was waiting for you." She said. "He didn't answer."

"Of course not." John answered. "Not surprising in the slightest." They peered into the first pub, looking among the few patrons for Sherlock's head of curly hair. He wasn't there, and they continued down the other streets in a similar fashion.

It was only after a good forty five minutes of searching that a loud noise on the next street over from where they were drew their attention. John and Madeline hurried to the source of the sound, a crowded pub called "The Lamb's Tail". Madeline hesitated a little bit before following John inside, but when something loud crashed she rushed in.

There was a large circle of onlookers and drunks all crammed together and shouting. They jostled each other as they raised their beers and shouted at whatever they were circled around, and Madeline had the sinking feeling that they were goading on Sherlock.

She pushed her way through the crowd, ignoring the rude comments and complaints the patrons gave her. She wasn't able to get to the center, but she was able to push through enough people to see what was going on. Sherlock, devoid of his coat and scarf, was circling another man- probably a patron of the pub. They both looked downright murderous. The other man rushed Sherlock, and the detective blocked a wild hook his opponent threw at his jaw. Sherlock retaliated with a blow to the man's abdomen, then forcibly shoved him to the side to throw off his balance. The man stumbled and fell to the ground. Sherlock turned to the gathered crowd with a wild grin as they roared their approval.

Madeline saw patrons on the other side of the circle hauling Sherlock's beaten opponent to his feet, but something looked wrong. She craned her head to see between the shoulders of two exceptionally drunk women and saw that the man had been passed a small steak knife from a nearby table. She saw the man stagger back into the ring, and Sherlock turned to face him expectantly with a smug grin on his face. From where he was, the detective couldn't see the knife hidden behind the other man's thigh as he readied himself for the next round.

"Sherlock!" She shouted, but her voice was swallowed and drowned out by the crowd.

The fight restarted quickly. The other man leaned back and kicked at Sherlock, who simply slid out of the man's reach. Sherlock was ready to retaliate; he clocked his opponent squarely on the shoulder of the arm that was hiding the steak knife. The other man instinctively raised his arm- weapon included- and struck at Sherlock's back as the detective retreated to his side of the circle. Madeline pushed forward as she heard a crash and someone shout in pain, and when she finally broke through to the center of the circle she saw John holding a broken liquor bottle over the opponent's limp body. Sherlock blinked at him as the entire pub fell silent.

"What in the _hell_ are you doing here?" John demanded. "I know I should be happy it's not a drug den but _really_? Just run off to go start a bar fight?" Sherlock gave him a watery glare that didn't look very convincing to Madeline.

"I was fine, I texted Miss Carver the details." He responded curtly. To Madeline he sounded drunk.

"No, you didn't." She interrupted, sensing how the entire pub's attention shifted to her when she spoke. "Sherlock, I've been running around London looking for you for the last hour and a half." She said. The detective furrowed his brow.

"I could have sworn I did." He muttered. John dropped the bottle he'd hit Sherlock's opponent with and disdainfully grabbed the detective by the arm.

"We're taking you back to the flat." He snapped, dragging Sherlock towards the door.

"'Ang on, you just bashed Mike o'er the head!" One of the onlookers shouted. John rolled his eyes and transferred a drunk Sherlock to Madeline, then leaned down to check the other man's pulse.

"He'll be fine. I'm a doctor, I know I didn't hit him too hard." He said, turning and abruptly leading Madeline and Sherlock out of the pub.


	8. Home Invaders

**A.N- Due to an upcoming plot twist, this piece will no longer work in the story. So I'm setting it free for you guys to read.**

She tried to scream, tried to kick at whatever was holding her down; but she couldn't get any air out. A rough hand was holding her mouth shut, and Madeline thrashed about violently to try and dislodge it. Her hand struck the pillows beside her where Sherlock would be and grew even more panicked when he wasn't there. She stopped struggling when another hand wrapped itself around her throat and gently squeezed.

"You're going to calm down." A smooth voice said. "Or I'm going to choke you till you're blue in the face." Madeline immediately fell still and winced when the bedside lamp flicked on to reveal a very threatening looking man looming above her.

"I'm going to take my hand off of your mouth, and you're going to be quiet. Deal?" He said in a low voice. Madeline nodded quickly with wide eyes, and the man slowly removed the hand over her mouth but kept his other one around her windpipe.

"Where's Sherlock?" Madeline gasped.

"He's in the den." The intruder said, jerking his head towards the bedroom door. "Don't shout." He added pointedly, just barely tightening his grip on Madeline's throat when he saw that she was going to scream. She kept quiet for all of three seconds, then pressed herself into the pillows and shouted.

" _Sherlock!_ " Madeline felt her air supply quickly dwindle as the intruder made an irritated noise and pinched her throat with two fingers. She squirmed and choked until her vision was littered with black spots and her ears were buzzing. The man released her neck and jerked her up out of the bed, then dragged her to the closet to grab one of Sherlock's scarves.

Madeline felt herself hit the ground, and she recognized the carpet of the living room rubbing her cheek. She could also feel the scarf the intruder had grabbed binding her hands together roughly.

"Miss Carver," She heard Sherlock gasp. She tried to roll onto her left side to face him, but the first man from the bedroom ground his heel into her right shoulder and pinned her to the rug. Madeline gasped and squirmed under the heel of the man's boot, and she noticed that there were three other men littering the flat, and all of them had guns trained on Sherlock, who was confined to John's armchair with a furious and pained look.

"What do you want?" He asked in a low voice. It sounded emotionless, but Madeline could tell that it was charged with anger.

"We want information on your case." The man from the bedroom said. Madeline assumed he was the leader, especially from the way he handled himself and how he was handling her. The heel of his shoe was growing more and more painful, and Madeline tried to focus on letting her shoulder relax to minimize the pain.

"I have nothing to tell you." Sherlock spat. "I haven't made any advancements on the case in weeks." The leader turned his foot, grinding his shoe into Madeline's shoulder. She made a strange sound and had to remind herself to relax her shoulder again.

"Then tell us who your client is." The man prompted, "Who employed you?" Sherlock looked at Madeline briefly, decided that she could last a bit longer, and then fixed the man with a cold stare.

"I'm not allowed to say." He said. "That would be a breach of confidentiality on my part." The leader closed his eyes and sighed, then removed his foot from Madeline's shoulder. She immediately tried to sit up and was halfway there when the leader's boot hit her in the throat.

She collapsed onto the rug, winded and gasping as the man kept the rubber sole of his shoe firmly pressed onto her windpipe. Sherlock looked ready to kill someone but sat motionless while the other intruders kept their guns trained on him.

"Tell us who employed you. Who gave you this case?" The leader demanded more harshly. When Sherlock didn't respond, the man leaned forward, slowly applying pressure onto Madeline's windpipe.

"Sherlock, answer him!" She choked. Sherlock met her eyes briefly before directing his attention to the leader.

"A man by the name of Dexter Segelsen." He said flatly. "He was a major in medical ethics, then turned to doing simple repair jobs for anyone who would ask. Remove your boot from Miss Carver's throat." The leader watched Sherlock closely, then stepped off of Madeline. She rolled to the side, gasping and choking as air filled her lungs to maximum capacity again. She panicked when the man pulled her to her feet. She tried to squirm away; but he quickly pulled Sherlock's scarf off of her hands and let her go. She stumbled away from him as quickly as she could and pressed herself against the mantelpiece.

"You would do poorly in an interrogation, Brother Mine." A clipped voice said. "At least when your little American is in the vicinity." Mycroft Holmes pushed himself off the doorframe casually, swinging his umbrella like a pendulum as he walked into the middle of the flat.

"You." Sherlock bit out. His brother gave him a tight smile and rolled his shoulders.

"A simple training exercise. We tend to use it to test recruits and see how well they stand under pressure. You seem to have failed." Mycroft's voice took on a fake pout and Sherlock stood from his chair quickly. The elder Holmes waved off the other men, and they stepped back respectfully.

"Get out." Sherlock snapped. "Leave. Now." Mycroft pursed his lips.

"I will after I've finished discussing your case with you. Dexter Segelsen, you said?" He asked. Sherlock stormed past him and threw open the door to 221B.

"Now." He snarled. Mycroft assessed his brother's body language and tone critically, then sighed.

"Another time, then. Perhaps when everything isn't so emotionally charged. I was hoping to stay longer." He swung his umbrella towards the door, and all the men filed out. The leader went last, and Madeline made sure to avoid making eye contact with him as he passed her. Mycroft turned and gave Sherlock another patronizingly kind smile, but the detective wasn't in the mood to tolerate it.

"Get out, Mycroft." He growled. "You've crossed a line." Mycroft raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, then inclined his head to Madeline, smirked at Sherlock, and left. As soon as the door closed, Madeline collapsed into her chair to catch her breath.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked her from the door. She shook her head, then tried to speak.

"Not really." She was horrified that her voice came out as a ragged croak, and Sherlock closed his eyes and frowned.

"Go find Mrs. Hudson and ask her to make tea with lots of honey." He said in a terse voice. "It'll help soothe your throat. Try not to speak, either." Madeline nodded and tramped down the steps, still in her pajamas. It would have been a lie to say that she was surprised to find Mycroft Holmes waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. The elder Holmes leaned close to her and spoke low and fast.

"You remember your impromptu deportation two years ago, yes?" He asked. "Do you remember what I told you then?" Madeline thought for a second, then shrugged. Mycroft didn't wait for her answer.

"I told you to stop fighting the man trying to get you on the plane, because you were hurting Sherlock." He said coldly. The memory came flooding back to Madeline, and she felt a tinge of the panic she'd felt while Mycroft had corralled her onto the plane bound for America.

"You're doing it again, young lady." Mycroft told her flatly. "I hope you realize the danger and vulnerability you pose." He risked a glance back up the stairway to the closed door of 221B. "I need my brother, as much as it pains me to say it; and he has as much of a part in this country's affairs as I do. Now, factor in you and your whole- scenario," He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "You put him at risk, and by extension- all of England. I would advise you to rethink everything you do regarding your relationship with Sherlock. Understood? If the time comes that you impair his ability to function too much, I _will_ have you removed; and it won't be to somewhere where he can easily reach you." Finished, Mycroft gave Madeline a tight smile and stepped into the street with a curt "good day". Madeline blinked after him, then silently continued to 221A.


	9. Big Ben Date

"Where are you taking me?" Madeline asked. Sherlock didn't answer her, he pulled her off of the Tube at Westminster station and hauled her up the stairs. They scanned their Oyster Cards and left the station, and Madeline couldn't help but cringe at the sight of Parliament across from the street from them. She hated even thinking about the building, it had been her prison for a brief amount of time; but it had been torturous. Literally. She dug her feet in slightly when Sherlock dragged her across the street and took her to the visitor's entrance to Parliament.

"Sherlock, no." She said, pulling out of his grasp and stepping back as the detective bought two tickets into the Parliament. He turned to her.

"I'm not taking you to the basement, don't worry." He said bluntly. "We're going up." He nodded his head at the Elizabeth Tower with its pristine clock face facing in four directions. Madeline eyed him skeptically.

"We don't have to if you don't want to." Sherlock told her. The man manning the ticket booth watched them both with an apathetic and bored expression. After a quick second of deliberation, Madeline followed Sherlock through the turnstile, metal detectors, and security gate back into the building she hated most in the city. Sherlock led her through the main lobby, away from the entrance to the basement. They tagged behind a tour group down a hallway, then the detective pushed her into a storage room and locked the door behind him.

"What are you doing?" Madeline asked nervously as Sherlock checked his watch.

"Waiting." He said absently. "Take a seat, we've still got half an hour." He watched her take a seat where he and John had waited almost five years prior for Parliament to close so they could rescue her and took a seat beside her.

"You sure can plan a date." Madeline commented. Sherlock smirked.

"It hasn't started, yet. The building begins to shut down in fifteen minutes, and in half an hour we'll be free to roam." He told her, earning a surprised look.

"You're kidding. Everything will be locked down." She argued. The detective pulled a small keychain with the Union Jack dangling on one end and a few keys on the other side.

"Not to us." He said smugly. Madeline watched the keys swing back and forth in front of her face disbelievingly.

"How did you get _house keys_ to Parliament?" She asked him incredulously. Sherlock's expression grew sour.

"Mycroft. I've done enough for him as of late that he owes me. Did you notice how I had been taking more of his cases?" He said. Madeline shook her head and he shrugged. "As long as we don't get into a gunfight or confront any criminals tonight, Mycroft promised me free reign of the place." Sherlock swung the keychain around his finger. "Impressed yet?" Madeline let herself smile as she leaned her head onto his shoulder.

"Quite. You're very smart, Sherlock." She said, knowing his ego was absolutely glowing anyway and not seeing the need to stoke it farther. They sat quietly for a while longer until Sherlock's watch beeped and he sat upright, waking Madeline from where she'd been dozing off on his shoulder.

"It's time, let's go." He whispered like an excited teenager sneaking out for a night on the town. Madeline followed him out of the storage room and into the lobby of Parliament. It looked eerily like it had when he'd helped her out of the basement, but she shook it off and followed Sherlock as he deftly swept through the building. She kept going until she bumped into his coat and he pushed her backwards quickly.

"Be quiet!" He hissed to her, "There's a night sentry." Madeline could hear keys jangling and the sound of someone shuffling on the tile floor, so she held her breath behind Sherlock until the guard had passed.

"Mycroft was supposed to make sure no one else was here tonight." Sherlock said bitterly.

"It's okay, that makes it an adventure." Madeline whispered boldly into his ear. Even though there were no guns or imminent danger, her heart was beating a million miles an hour with adrenaline and excitement. Sherlock grabbed her hand and darted through another corridor, then unlocked a metal door that led to a flight of steps.

"Get going." He ordered her, "The door will squeak when it opens. I'll lock it behind us so the guard doesn't know something's amiss." He opened the door quickly and before the metal had finished squealing Madeline was already six steps up the metal staircase. Sherlock locked the door behind them and followed her up the stairs. He easily blew past her, and when she finally staggered to the first landing he was waiting for her.

"Jesus." She choked. "How many stairs are there?"

"Three-hundred and fourteen." Sherlock said, not sounding winded at all. "I would liked to have brought you here sooner, but only English residents are allowed to climb the tower."

"Right, like that would have stopped you." Madeline said, still breathing a little hard. Sherlock rolled his eyes and set off on the next flight of stairs, and Madeline followed him. Two-hundred and eighty steps later, they stood behind the western clock face of Big Ben. Sherlock slid his hand over the glass panes until he found the one he was looking for and pushed it open. He gestured for Madeline to look out, and she had an even harder time catching her breath when she peered outside.

The window overlooked the Thames, the London Eye, and a good deal of the riverbank. The sun was going down, so it bathed everything in a rose-gold glow, including Parliament and Big Ben.

"Oh my God, it's beautiful!" She gasped. Sherlock smirked,

"We're not even at the top, yet." He reminded her, pulling her away from the window and leading her up the other steps to the belfry. Madeline crept between the enormous bells carefully, trailing her hands over the cracks in the metal. She gawked at the view from the enormous open windows looking out over London and debated pulling down the wire covering them so she could step onto the narrow terrace and get a better look. Sherlock led her up to the very top floor after another fifty steps or so, and after he waited for her to catch her breath he all but pushed her to the windows to proudly show her the view.

The windows covered every inch of the walls, giving an excellent view of Parliament, Westminster, and the northern side of the Thames. Madeline could see for miles around, if she strained her eyes she could just barely see the spires of Tower Bridge and the Tower of London past the London Eye. The sun had sunk lower, but the twilight was casting a beautiful glow over everything in sight. Madeline inhaled deeply, even though the air was polluted, it came from her city. Her home. She turned to Sherlock, who looked as smug as a peacock.

"This is amazing!" She told him.

"Of course." He responded. "Wasn't it worth the climb?" Madeline nodded and slowly walked circles around the level, resisting the sudden bouts of vertigo that seized her if she tried to look at the streets below for too long. She gazed at Westminster with a glazed expression and a happy grin. Sherlock joined her and they looked out over London until the sun set, throwing the bank in a cloak of darkness until lights flashed on and lit up the land as far as the eye could see. Madeline shivered, and Sherlock frowned.

"Let's go back down." He told her, corralling her away from the windows and back down the stairs. She stopped at the northern clock face again to peer out over the Thames and watch the London Eye light up like a psychedelic rainbow. Then she and Sherlock both continued back down to the metal door. Sherlock tested the handle and nodded when he found it locked. He fished in his pockets for the keys and fitted one into the door, but the metal didn't open. Madeline peered over his shoulder and frowned.

"Is it still locked?" She asked, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

"Yes, and that's the problem." Sherlock snapped. He tried all the keys on the key ring on the door, even the one he'd used to lock the door earlier. The door stayed shut.

"You must be joking." Sherlock growled at the door.

"Maybe we could get the attention of the night guard." Madeline suggested.

"Of course, and get permanently banned from the building and a smug 'I told you so' from my brother." The detective snapped back. She shivered and hunkered deeper into her coat. A gust of wind blew through the belfry, funneling down the tower like a wind tunnel.

"We're stuck." Sherlock said bitterly.

"There are worse places to be locked in." Madeline reminded him pointedly. She blew on her hands and rubbed them together. "Let's go back up to the clock face. That way the wind won't be as bad and the stairs can get our blood going." She didn't wait for Sherlock's answer, she started to climb the stairs again. After a few more minutes of trying to open the door the detective followed her, muttering the whole way about his brother purposefully locking him in the bell tower and brainstorming ways to exact revenge.

He caught up to Madeline at the clock face. She was staring out the open panel again at the city drenched in night and peppered with bright lights.

"Great date." She told him earnestly. He gave her a flat look and she nudged his shoulder. "I mean it. Sorry I was so reluctant at first. Very clever of you to arrange this." She could see him smile in the light that hit the opaque glass panels on the clock face, and she grinned back.

"Would you like to camp out on one of the upper levels?" He asked her. "We might as well enjoy the view since we're trapped up here." Madeline nodded and followed him up to the top floor again. After she caught her breath, she took a seat leaning against the metal support in the middle of the floor and Sherlock joined her. After a while the cold from the metal seeped into her skin, and the wind blowing through the wire over the windows didn't help. Sherlock charitably spread his coat over them, and they sat on top of Madeline's coat to keep their legs warm. They quietly watched all of London continue on its way, oblivious to what was happening above their heads. After about an hour Madeline fell asleep on Sherlock's shoulder again, and he let her stay there until morning.

They were both woken by the loud, reverberating clangs that echoed up through the belfry. Madeline rolled away from Sherlock and jumped up, feeling the metal reverberate beneath her feet. She latched onto the metal support as the floor shivered again.

"The bell is ringing!" She shouted to Sherlock, who had stabilized himself and gotten over his alarm much faster than she had.

"What?" He shouted as the clock struck again. Madeline hunched her shoulders up to try and muffle the sound before it could reach her ears and shook her head. After four more rings the clock tower fell silent. Sherlock tossed her her jacket.

"It's six," He said, "Good morning." Madeline scowled at him and rubbed at her ears to try and get rid of the ringing sound that was distorting her hearing. She pulled her jacket back on and Sherlock rebuttoned his coat. They both almost sprinted down the steps to the metal door at the bottom.

"Be glad we hadn't slept below the bells by the clock face," Sherlock said. "It would have been much louder." They waited until they heard someone shuffling down the hall, then Sherlock kicked the metal door viciously and dragged Madeline into hiding with him. After a minute the metal door creaked open and the night guard poked his head in, yawned, and propped the door open for the day's visitors. Sherlock waited until the man's footsteps had faded, then quickly pulled Madeline after him. She couldn't help but laugh as they flew down the halls of Parliament- something that wasn't allowed _at all_. Sherlock took her to the entrance and vaulted over the turnstile, then waited impatiently while she climbed over it. They ran past the empty ticketmaster's booth and out into the street and chilly morning. Madeline bent over at the waist, torn between catching her breath and dissolving into laughter. Sherlock smirked.

"And what did you think of that excursion?" He asked smugly.

"It was great." Madeline snickered, finally calming down and standing upright again. "Ten-out-of-ten would climb Big Ben again."


	10. The Crossover to End All Crossovers (Ew)

Madeline heard a loud whirring sound. She shook Sherlock awake violently. "Do you hear that?" She whispered. The detective threw on his blue robe and pulled his gun from the drawer in the bedside table. He slowly crept down the hallway with his arm slightly extended behind him to keep Madeline back. He didn't have to worry; she wasn't the least bit inclined to rush past him and confront the source of the noise first.

"Oh look, a cat! I speak cat, too." A voice said loudly. Sherlock rushed forward quickly then stopped. A blue box sat in the middle of the living room. An old police box from some time in the 1900's.

"How the hell did that get in the den?" Madeline whispered. Sherlock threw the windows and doorframe a glance to see if someone had used drills to bring the telephone booth in as a prank. Sherry streaked out from behind the box, chased by a tall gangly man in a fez and a tweed jacket. Sherlock immediately swung his gun up to face the intruder, who stopped so quickly that his fez fell into his hands. He tossed the hat like a Frisbee at Sherlock, and when the detective batted it away the intruder had already taken a seat in the detective's chair. Sherlock's jaw twitched.

"Hello!" The man said cheerfully. "Don't be alarmed. The time circuit malfunctioned, I was supposed to go to Quadrant Six." He pulled something from his coat, and Sherlock stepped closer with his gun.

"What are you blithering about?" He snapped. Madeline peered over his shoulder to get a better look at the man, but the detective nudged her backwards. The intruder wiggled his hand at her and grinned.

"I'm the Doctor, in case you were wondering… which you probably were, of course." He said, springing from Sherlock's chair and spinning to a stop in front of him. The Doctor stuck his hand out to Sherlock with a lopsided grin and flexed his hand in a coaxing motion to encourage the detective to take it. Madeline reached underneath Sherlock's arm and shook the intruder's hand. The detective scowled and noted the cat hairs up and down his sleeves, not lowering his gun even an inch.

"A doctor of what?" Madeline asked, still a little suspicious but more than a little excited. The Doctor threw his hands up and spun in a circle, and Sherlock stepped back to avoid being hit in the face.

"Oh, anything and everything." The Doctor said mysteriously. "I can show you, if you'd like." He grinned, and Sherlock downright glowered at him.

"That sounds like a threat." The detective deadpanned. The Doctor held up one finger, still grinning.

"On the contrary, it's an invitation." He stepped back towards the blue police box, and Sherlock lowered his gun slightly. The Doctor twirled the small device he'd pulled from his coat in his hand and swept it over and around the phone booth as it made a high-pitched buzzing noise. The Doctor made an irritated sound and slapped the device on his palm a few times before it beeped and he whooped.

"All fixed! It should work now." He said, more to himself than to Madeline and Sherlock. He seemed to have forgotten that they were even there.

"He's like a happier version of you." She whispered to the detective. He gave her a sour look, and she grinned. "What is that thing?" She asked the Doctor. He spun around in surprise, like he truly had forgotten that he'd intruded into their home.

"This? Oh, this. Yes this is my sonic. My sonic screwdriver if you want to use its trademarked name." He said, twirling the sonic between his fingers and fiddling with it absently. He spoke quickly, not in a guilty way; but in the manner of someone who has too much going through their head to speak slowly.

"As I was saying," The Doctor continued, showcasing a smile with its wattage turned up to one-hundred percent. "I can show you-"The door to 221B burst open, and two men rushed in. Sherlock immediately trained his gun on them and the Doctor held his hands up pleasantly.

"Drop your gun!" The taller of the two new intruders ordered. Sherlock stared him down and kept his gun level until the shorter one pulled the trigger on his own gun and shot the detective in the chest. Madeline shrieked as he fell back onto her and she tried to catch him. The Doctor darted in front of them protectively with a dangerous expression nothing like the amicable, mischievous smile he'd had moments before. He pointed his screwdriver at the two men, although Madeline had no idea how such a small piece of metal would protect them against guns.

"I'd advise you to drop _your_ guns. That'd make everything go much faster, and I'm not that big of a fan of violence you know." He said, talking low and fast.

Madeline threw Sherlock's bathrobe open and pulled up his undershirt, but stopped when she didn't see any blood. She ran her hand gently over his chest and withdrew when her hand grazed his ribs and he groaned. She inspected his arms and waist, then sat back and helped the detective sit up when she was satisfied that he wasn't actually shot.

"What did you shoot him with?" She demanded, jumping to her feet in a sudden bout of anger. She almost stormed past the Doctor, but he threw out a wiry arm to stop her and didn't take his eyes off of the intruders. The taller one looked a little perplexed, and the shorter one looked amused.

"Rock salt." The second one said. "Certified to send all your demons and ghosties back to Hell for a nice vacation." He tossed his gun in his hands aimlessly, and Madeline saw that it was a sawed off shotgun instead of a handgun like she'd originally thought. The taller of the two held his hands up with his gun dangling from his thumb submissively.

"We're sorry," He said earnestly. "I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean. We just shot him with rock salt, I promise."

"You said demons." Madeline said, not caring what the intruders' names were. "And then you shot my fiancée!" The shorter one, Dean, groaned at the word "fiancée" while his brother glared at him.

"We're sorry." Sam repeated. "We've been hunting something throughout London lately. And we got a tip that it would be here." He tossed his gun onto the couch, and Dean did the same with his shotgun. The Doctor flipped his sonic screwdriver back into his palm with an almost sheepish expression.

"That was quite possibly me." He admitted, "It's exciting to have a fanclub, though! I should start styling my hair differently if I'll be dealing with the paparazzi." He brushed at his hair jokingly, but Madeline narrowed her eyes.

"You hunt people?" She snapped, "What the _hell_?" She ignored the brothers' wince at her phrasing.

"We don't hunt _people_. That's murder, sweetheart." Dean corrected her. "We hunt ghosts, demons, boogeymen, anything that can fit under your bed or in your closet. That kind of stuff." Sherlock groaned again, and Madeline quickly returned to his side to help the detective to his feet. A large purple bruise was spreading across the right side of his ribcage, and he was still breathing a little heavily.

"What are you doing here?" He growled at Sam and Dean, who had lowered their hands. "You're American. Why hunt something in a different country?"

"Ah yes, that'd be because of me again." The Doctor said, sliding aside and wringing his hands repeatedly. "I sort of caused some minor magnetic and radio disruptions when the TARDIS-"He nodded at the phone box, "-Flew over Pennsylvania. Kudos to the two of you, by the way! What excellent dedication!" He applauded enthusiastically, and to Madeline it seemed as if the Doctor was actually _flattered_ by the two men trying to hunt him down. Sam gave him a perplexed look and held up a finger.

"Just give us a minute." He said, "We need to check something." He and Dean pulled items from their pockets, and while Madeline and Sherlock shrank back instinctively, the Doctor leaned forward with enthusiasm. The Winchesters turned to the blue police box and threw white powder onto it. The phone booth began to crackle like it was actively charged with activity.

"No! Don't throw salt onto it!" The Doctor cried, "That corrodes the controls!" He rushed to the box and almost hugged it as he swept his sonic screwdriver over the wooden walls tenderly. The device beeped arrogantly, and he sighed. Sam and Dean stood back, a little amused and a little off-guard by the Doctor's odd, erratic behavior.

"Since you've already seasoned the outside, I guess you'll want to see the inside too." He said, pointing his sonic at the door without even looking. Dean scoffed.

"Come on, it's like four feet inside. There's no way we can… holy shit." He and Sam gaped at whatever was inside the phonebooth, and Sherlock and Madeline stumbled forward to see what was so intriguing. Through the doorway they could see a large command center and console of sorts surrounded by a catwalk. It looked almost like the inside of a-

"Spaceship." Sherlock said plainly. "It's a spaceship." The Doctor beamed at him and nodded fervently, looking like a child showing off his favorite toy.

"So like I said," He said, once again slipping into his fast and enthusiastic tone. "How about a trip?"


	11. 1888

_1888_

"Of course I'm right. I always am." Sherlock Holmes scoffed, pulling a well-worn deerstalker onto his head. "I expect that I'll be hearing from you soon, Detective Inspector." He said, cordially addressing Greg Lestrade before turning and striding down the dirty cobblestone road. London was old but beautiful, especially under Victoria's reign.

"How did it go?" A lilting Southern voice asked as a young woman fell into step beside the detective. "You look awfully confident."

"The entire dinner party was served soup with Xanthid crab meat in it. They all quickly succumbed to the poison and died, leaving the staff to pick their pockets clean." Sherlock told her in one fluid breath. "I have no idea why you follow me around so, Miss Carver."

"Just Madeline will do." She reminded him, "And I came to England to explore, and you seem to do plenty of that. And that's what neighbors are for, right?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her as they continued through the lattice of ancient streets until they reached Maryleborne Road and Baker Street. Sherlock chivalrously held open the door emblazoned with "221", and Madeline swept in gracefully. They met their landlady, Mrs. Hudson, in the landing.

"Have you already finished with the dinner murder?" The lady asked kindly. "You just got the case yesterday."

"Ah, but there's no time like the present, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock told her simply. "I had nothing else to do, so I put my mind to work." He inclined his head to the ladies, then continued up to his flat in 221B. Mrs. Hudson and Madeline exchanged polite greetings, then left for their respective rooms- Mrs. Hudson in 221A and Madeline in 221C.

Madeline found an envelope with her name scribbled on it left under her door. Her chest swelled when she realized it was from her family in America. She wasted no time in ripping the letter open and pouring over its contents.

 _"Maddy, We hope you're doing well. The loom broke again, so I sent Will into town to buy another set of bands and a shuttle. Your sister has been helping me weave lately, and Will has been out in the fields with your father. He says to tell you to get home as soon as you can, he still doesn't like you being overseas in a country with a monarchy. You know how he is."_ Madeline read her mother's words with a faint smile. Her father tended to tread on the more nationalistic side, and even though Madeline didn't approve, his concern for her was comforting. She quickly scanned the rest of the letter, her siblings were doing well, and President Cleveland was losing sorely to Governor Benjamin Harris in the upcoming election. Madeline put the letter aside and made a note to write her family back. A soft scratch at her window drew her attention to the rather obtuse tabby cat mewling on the windowsill.

"There you are, you rotten cat." Madeline scolded it fondly. She opened the window and the cat helped itself, hopping in and strolling through the small flat with an air of importance. Madeline set out a bowl of scraps for it and milk, then set about grabbing her books to read for the evening. As a woman, she wasn't allowed to do much more than loiter around St. Bart's hospital as a cleaner; but she enjoyed sneaking into the labs and "cleaning" them. Her best educational opportunities came when Sherlock offered to let her watch or even help him with his work, and as much as she hated the sight of dead bodies, it was preferable to drearily cleaning the hospital washbasins. She sighed and curled up in one of the chairs scattered in her flat, displaying a horrifying breach of etiquette as she kicked her tight shoes off and pulled her feet up underneath her.

She read for a while, entranced in the pages of her book and oblivious to the world until she heard a sharp knock on her door. She quickly closed her book and sprang to the door, still wearing just stockings on her feet. Madeline opened the door to see a smartly dressed man at her doorstep. He eyed her a bit warily, then with an air of distaste he raised his chin with an aristocratic air.

"May I come in, madam?" He asked in a falsely polite voice. Madeline pressed her lips together and stepped aside.

"Of course, Mycroft. Come in." She made sure to only partially obey the Victorian etiquette concerned with social calls; the more she could annoy Sherlock's older brother, the better. Mycroft Holmes stepped into 221C, surveying the fat street cat eating from a saucer and the books and miscellaneous clothes scattered around the room.

"You seem to have taken on my brother's habit of living in constant disarray." He remarked snidely. Madeline followed after him and took a seat without waiting for him to sit first.

"I guess you're here because Sherlock solved the case with the poisoned dinner guests?" Madeline. Mycroft tilted his head.

"Remind me again why he takes you with him?" He asked a little coldly. Madeline gave him a knowing smile and shrugged, smugly noticing the irate expression Mycroft was trying to smother. He took a deep breath and composed himself.

"My brother has taken the liberty of locking me out of his flat." He said, "I want you to relay a message to him." Madeline leaned forward a little bit. "There have been two murders in the East End," Mycroft said, "Scotland Yard and Her Majesty fear that there may be more. I want you to propose the case to Sherlock. Understood?" He said a bit sharply. Madeline sat back and blinked, a little underwhelmed at the message.

"He hates taking cases from you," She pointed out. "What makes you think he'll take it?" It was Mycroft's turn to give her a smug smile without an answer as he stood and bowed slightly to her.

"It's been a pleasure, Miss Carver." The Holmes brother said a little stiffly, "Please excuse me." He left 221C as quickly as he'd come; but not before throwing another disdainful glance at Madeline's stocking feet. Madeline waited until she heard the front door close, then tiptoed up to 221B. The door was still locked and she could hear loud violin music drifting through the walls. After a rather long bout of banging on the door, Sherlock opened it and gave her an amused look.

"Has my brother left?" He asked, stepping aside and wordlessly inviting his neighbor in. She took a seat in the chair he normally sat in and nodded.

"Mycroft has a new case for you. There have been two murders in the East End. He wants you to find out about their connections and stop the killer before there's another one." She relayed to him. The detective pulled his smoking pipe from its case and tapped it against his leg thoughtfully.

"I suppose we might have to." He said, "But we can focus on it later. Will you accompany me to dinner, Miss Carver? I have somewhere to be." Madeline grinned at him.

"I was wondering when you'd ask."

. . .

John Watson was early. As he always was. He and his wife, Mary were already seated and waiting when Sherlock and Madeline walked in. Madeline delicately removed her hand from Sherlock's arm, and he offered her a seat beside Mary and then seated himself next to John. Madeline immediately saw the two men's' faces light up at the sight of each other, and smiled to herself before turning to Mary.

"How have you been?" She asked a little openly. Obviously the Watsons didn't care much for Victorian propriety- neither of them had stood when Sherlock and Madeline had approached, so Madeline didn't have to worry about conversational etiquette.

"It's been better," Mary sighed, nodding her head in John's direction. "He's been absolutely pining for his detective, and still seems to be a bit of a sexist." The women didn't have to worry about Sherlock and John overhearing them, they were far too busy in their own conversations about murders and mysteries. Madeline pursed her lips.

"I'm sorry." She said earnestly, "I know it's not ideal being…" She searched for the right word.

"A decoy." Mary finished for her. "I don't mind, really. I love him, and I want John to be happy; he just needs to shift his mannerisms a bit, you know?" Madeline nodded, and Mary quickly shifted the subject. "They look so happy together." Madeline smiled at John and Sherlock, who were leaning slightly towards each other subconsciously. A passing waiter threw them a cautious and almost frightened glance, so Madeline swiftly kicked Sherlock's leg under the table to jerk him back to reality.

Since moving into the Baker Street flats, Madeline had become Sherlock's companion on what could be considered "dates" with the Watsons. John and Mary were still a married couple, but lived more on a platonic scale than an intimate and involved one. Whenever they got together, Madeline pretended to be Sherlock's beau and Mary dutifully played the role of a wife. Through their shenanigans, nobody suspected in the least that Sherlock and John were anything more than friends, when in reality they were the couple.

Sherlock threw Madeline a grateful but irate look for her warning and went back to speaking with John. Madeline and Mary discussed the Queen and her husband, and whether or not the opening of the Washington Monument in D.C. would be as big of a hit as the papers were saying.

"Do you know anything about this double murder case they're working on?" Madeline asked Mary suddenly, derailing the meek and polite conversation in favor of something darker.

"I do." Mary said soberly. "In fact, I'd stand to say I know more about it than either of them do." She gave her husband a kind look, and he simply continued to talk with Sherlock. She beckoned Madeline closer, and they both leaned in.

"I know both of the people who were murdered." She said softly. "Knew, rather." Madeline felt her eyes widen.

"How?"

"'How' isn't important." Mary said dismissively, "I knew them. Mary Ann Nichols and Annie Chapman. We were something akin to acquaintances, if not friends."

"You need to tell this to Sherlock," Madeline said in a hushed voice, "Or maybe to Mycro-"

"No." Said Mary a little brusquely, "I have the feeling they already know," She added as an amending afterthought. Madeline pursed her lips and watched Sherlock gently rest his hand on John's for a moment while she thought.

"Just- do me a favor, love." Mary said, pulling Madeline's hands into her lap and holding them in a grip like ice. "Stay out of the East End until the killer is caught. I have the feeling this is just the start of something."

. . .

Mary was right.

Sherlock locked himself in his rooms for days on end, only leaving and moving about in the darkest hours before dawn and making the building reek of pipe smoke. Madeline heard him exclaiming to himself one afternoon and crept up to his flat to see what the excitement was about.

"What are you-"

"There's been another murder!" He whooped. Madeline didn't feel at all like mustering a pleased expression at the notion.

"Another woman in East End?" She asked.

" _Two_ women, actually." Sherlock corrected her, "Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes. Check the paper." He gestured to a disregarded newspaper on his chair, and Madeline read through it gingerly.

"Slashes on the throats, parts of their… uteruses missing. And they're all prostitutes in the East End?" She asked.

"Most definitely." Sherlock said with vigor, "People are already calling Stride and Eddowes the 'double event'. Will you accompany me to the crime scene?" Madeline wanted to recoil at his oddly chivalrous offer, but decided to go against her better judgement.

Mary's words of avoiding the East End rattled around in Madeline's head like loose marbles, and she felt very exposed as she walked on Sherlock's arm through the streets. Even though their physical arrangement displayed the fact that she was escorted and even protected by the detective, she still felt vulnerable to prying eyes on the street. She and Sherlock walked all the way to Goulston Street in Whitechapel, where Lestrade and Police Commissioner Charles Warren were waiting for them.

"Oh thank God, glad you made it Holmes." Lestrade said in a tight voice, inclining his head to acknowledge Madeline's presence. She frowned. "We found what may have been a piece of Eddowes' apron in the stairway over there." Lestrade jerked his head across the street. Sherlock followed after him, but not before positioning Madeline across from the crime scene and mussing her hair a bit.

"Pretend to look interested, but indifferent." He instructed, ignoring her indignant scoff and efforts to smooth her hair. "And leave your hair that way. It's imperative." He said before quickly following after the Detective Inspector.

Madeline casually surveyed the street around her. Normal street pedestrians were stopping out of sheer curiosity to try and peer past the bobbies crowded around the crime scene, and Madeline noticed that many of them were ladies of the night who had their hair styled like hers (after Sherlock's meddling with it). She threw covert glances at the people who crowded around or passed her, but didn't see anything of interest worth reporting to Sherlock. One person stepped on the heel of her shoe; but she didn't do more than shoot the perpetrator a nasty glance.

A bout of arguing and a sound that Madeline realized as Sherlock's angry voice echoed from across the street, and the detective strode out of the building with Lestrade and Charles Warren behind him.

"You don't just _erase_ evidence, you prat!" Sherlock spat, not caring at all that he was drawing attention to himself. The Police Commissioner spluttered for a second before regaining his footing.

"It was offensive graffiti! I had no idea it may have been connected to the murders!" He countered, "Think of the riots that would break out if-"

"If what?" Sherlock asked sharply, "If you hadn't erased a crucial piece of evidence that would have aided me in finding the killer? No? Of course not. Lestrade, for once you seem to be the most adept officer at the Yard. Quite ahead of this idiot. Good day." The detective turned on his heel and left, leaving Lestrade to do damage control and keep Warren from lunging after Sherlock and throwing blows. Sherlock didn't place Madeline on his arm when he left, so she got the hint he wanted her to follow behind him as if they were strangers.

She trailed him all the way back to Baker Street, then waited for a while to enter after the detective. Once inside, Madeline went straight to 221B and collapsed onto the couch in an unladylike fashion.

"And what was that all about?" She demanded, pulling her hair down and tossing it behind her shoulders. Sherlock still looked angry; but he seemed to have reined in his temper slightly.

"The _Police Commissioner_ -"He spat the title out like vinegar. "Thought it prudent to erase a message written on the wall- _in the victims' blood, no less_ \- under the guise that it may have presented an 'antisemetic message'." He scoffed and paced around the flat, and Madeline pulled her feet out of the way so he wouldn't tread on her. After quite a few rounds of pacing, Sherlock calmed down and steepled his fingers in front of his face.

"I'll need your assistance again," He said, "John and I are going out." Madeline raised an eyebrow at the sudden change of topic.

"To which restaurant?" She dearly hoped to see Mary again and tell her about the new murders, although she'd no doubt heard of them anyway.

"We're not going _out_. We're going… out." Sherlock said, "Be here by seven, I will provide your clothes."

. . .

Madeline had no idea what was going on; but she had the sinking feeling that she was going to become the third wheel on the night's endeavor. It wouldn't be fair to say that she was jealous of John, but she did enjoy the fact that Sherlock treated her like a human being (which was better than how he treated most people anyway and it was preferable to being looked at like a china doll) and got just a little irate when John and his older ideals came around and she became virtually ignored. Sherlock had given her a very dirty dress that must have been pretty in its hayday, and once Madeline put it on the detective mussed her hair again, smeared soot from the flue on her face, and set off. They walked in a bit of an odd arrangement, as society dictated that a man could have two women on his arms but a woman could _never_ have a man on each side.

Madeline was stuck between the two lovers anyway.

Sherlock and John left Madeline on the front steps of the Whitechapel Church, then gave her instructions on where to go. She was only supposed to circle the few blocks composing the Whitechapel area, then Sherlock would take her home. She had the uneasy feeling that she was being used as bait for the murderer; but tried her best not to acknowledge it and look too guilty or suspicious.

Sherlock and John dropped behind a ways while Madeline wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and shuffled down the street. She could hear them murmuring behind her sometimes, and it did little to ease her anxiety.

"Good evening, my lady." A gentleman said, sliding out of a shop like a wraith and flashing her a charming smile. Madeline smiled a little shakily back at him and he frowned.

"What seems to be the matter? Are you unescorted?" He asked with what sounded like sincere concern. Madeline looked the newcomer over. He didn't seem very alarming or intimidating, and he wasn't much taller than she was. With the added protection of John and Sherlock behind her, she felt comfortable taking the arm he offered her and walking with him through the streets. He walked her to a safe spot, then tipped his hat to her.

"I never did learn your name," He said.

"Madeline." She responded quietly. The gentleman raised his eyebrows and smiled at her.

"I'm Professor Jim Moriarty. It was a pleasure to escort you tonight. Tell your gentlemen friends I meant you no harm." He said, waving over Madeline's shoulder. She didn't trust Moriarty enough to turn around, so she simply nodded and watched him stride away. Before she knew it, John was at her side.

"We need to go." He said gruffly, "That wasn't good."

. . .

Sherlock wasn't answering any of Madeline's questions, and John downright ignored her. She sat on the couch in 221B, watching the detective burn treads into the carpet with his furious pacing and wondering why the Professor had been such an issue.

"Who is he?" She demanded for the thousandth time. John sighed and rubbed at his temples.

"He's an Oxford professor."

"So?"

"He's been involved in a multitude of Sherlock's cases; but he's never been able to bring him in." John added the last part a little more quietly, as if he didn't want to further irritate Sherlock's obviously wounded sense of pride.

"If he's involved in this that means that he won't stop there." Sherlock murmured. "He never stops until we're nose to nose in confrontation."

"Then confront him." Madeline suggested. "I've seen you kick more than your fair share of arse." Sherlock let a wry smile bend the corner of his mouth, but the gesture didn't reach his eyes.

"It's not that simple." He said, "I hate to ask you again; but-"

"I'm doomed to be bait again, aren't I?" Madeline sighed.

"We can always have John dress up in a corset and petticoat if you're not willing." Sherlock suggested with only a glimpse of humor. John scoffed, and Madeline felt herself smile.

"I'll do it." She said, "But promise you'll intervene if anything goes wrong."

. . .

It was cold, but she hadn't been allowed more than a wool shawl. Madeline waited aimlessly on a corner for what seemed like forever, then set off deeper into East End when a gentleman began to light the lamp posts on the street. She knew John and Sherlock were following, dressed as inconspicuously as possible; but that did nothing to ease the pace of her heart as it thudded in her chest.

She followed the directions Sherlock had given her and turned right when she reached the Whitechapel church. Nobody milling around on the street paid her any attention; but Madeline still felt like someone was watching her. Her conversation with Mary jumped to the front of her mind, and she hoped that she wouldn't be the next woman to end up gutted and dead in the street like discarded meat.

"You must really enjoy the dangers of wandering around East End." A voice said. Madeline spun on her heel and wasn't surprised to see Moriarty leaning against a wall with a top hat perched precariously on his head.

"You seem to enjoy stalking around East End." She replied in a curt but engaging manner. Her instructions had been to get him talking, to see if he would let something incriminating slip. Jim shrugged.

"There's a murderer on the loose, that's more than enough to make me interested in local events." He smiled warmly at her, but Madeline noticed that his eyes didn't move when he smiled. The thought made her cringe.

"Is your envoy absent this evening?" Moriarty asked, pushing himself off of the wall and walking to Madeline's side. She furtively checked behind her and was terrified when she couldn't see John or Sherlock behind her.

"They're here somewhere." She told Moriarty with a false air of confidence. He smiled like he was merely agreeing with her, then extended his arm to her again.

"I'm sure they are." He said, "But at this time of night, you really should be escorted." Madeline drew back when he smiled again, once she'd noticed that the expression didn't reach his eyes, it was impossible to unsee.

"And you think I need an escort?" She challenged. Jim laughed, and the sound bounced off the cobblestones and buildings lining the dark street.

"Of course not, but I hope you'll be inclined to walk with me again." He said in a voice that seemed vaguely threatening to Madeline. She watched him for a moment, then checked over her shoulder again for Sherlock. She didn't see him, so she gingerly placed her arm on Jim's and they set off.

"You certainly do keep interesting company, Madeline." He commented jovially, as though they were on a stroll through Kensington Gardens.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"You play the decoy with the famous Sherlock Holmes so he can spend time with his 'true love', Dr. Watson." Jim elaborated like the information was old news, and Madeline kept her face still. "Sherlock has been an enormous thorn in my side for a while," Moriarty continued. "He always seems to put his nose where it's not wanted, and still come out on top."

"He's good at that." Madeline replied. Jim made a noise that sounded like a scoff or growl.

"That's true; but it gets old after a while- you can understand, I'm sure." He said, jostling her arm like they were two friends sharing a joke. Madeline faked a smile.

"I have nothing else to do." She said, "Besides stitch sheets and clean hospital pans, so I find that it's a welcome distraction."

"Is that so?" Jim said indifferently. They walked in silence for a while longer, and Madeline resisted the urge to look behind her for some sign of John and Sherlock. After a bit of silence with only the sounds of their footsteps in the air, Moriarty spoke again. "You can understand why his interference is such a nuisance, yes? Including his attempted investigation into this recent string of murders." Madeline shifted uncomfortably but started when something sharp pricked her through the waist of her dress. She could feel the tip of a cold blade resting casually against her side. Jim chuckled.

"Oh don't worry, they're definitely behind us. This is just to ensure they keep their distance. I'm sure the great detective can read your body language from here." He reassured her kindly.

"Madeline? Oh thank goodness!" A high pitched voice cried. Madeline felt the knife twitch against her side in surprise, and she turned to see Mary rushing towards her with outstretched arms.

"Mary, wait-"

"And you're escorted by such a fine gentleman, how extravagant!" She continued, looping her arm through Madeline's and slightly pulling her away from Jim. His grip on her other arm tightened, and she felt the knife move away for a second.

"We're actually on our way back to Baker Street," Moriarty said firmly. "It isn't safe for a woman like yourself to be out at night like this." Madeline saw Mary's eye glint dangerously, but she hid it with a smile.

"I thank you for your kindness, sir; but I'll take my friend back home. No need to inconvenience you any further." She said cheerfully.

"I insist." Jim said lowly.

"Mary!" John shouted, apparently just catching sight of his wife standing in the middle of the street. Mary closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, like she was exasperated.

"John, you should stay out of this." She warned him. "This isn't how I was planning the evening to go." She added flatly. Moriarty knew he was outnumbered. He flipped the knife in his hand so that the hilt was in his palm with the blade pointed towards his elbow, then grabbed Madeline's shawl. He threw it in a loop, then jerked it backwards. The shawl was soft; but the force behind it pulled it taut across Madeline's throat. She was able to wedge a few fingers on each hand between the shawl and her skin to rear a few degrees of separation. Mary pulled something out of her pocket, and John pulled a pistol. Jim scoffed.

"Excellent choice of weapon, if you aim correctly, you should be able to go right through her shoulder and hit me squarely in the chest." He said.

"John don't you _dare_!" Madeline gasped. The shawl grew tighter, and she gasped as black flecks mottled her vision.

"So I take it that this is your confession." Mary said tightly. "The Queen will be glad to know that 'Jack the Ripper' is off the streets." Moriarty rolled his eyes.

"I still don't understand why it's 'Jack' and not 'Jim'. It sounds more fearsome, I suppose." He said in a pouty voice. Madeline pulled her fingers out from underneath the shawl and drove them backwards behind her head blindly. She cringed when her left pointer finger hit something wet and soft; but was relieved when the tension on her neck was released.

She dropped to the ground and rolled to the side, and she heard a clang as Moriarty dropped his knife in favor of clutching at his eye. Madeline swept the blade into her hand and retreated until she was level with John and Mary. Moriarty staggered for a moment, then straightened up with one hand clapped over his eye and a gun clutched in the other.

"Drop it." John said dangerously. Jim laughed.

"And why should I?" He teased, "You're the only one with a long distance weapon, and I'd say that your gun holds about three rounds- whereas mine holds five. By all means, try your chances, Dr. Watson."

"Wait, where's Sherlock?" Madeline whispered after a short headcount.

"He just up and disappeared, as he does." John grumbled. "Now really isn't the time." Jim smirked and raised his gun as a long pole swept out of the darkness behind him and caught him soundly in the head. He crumpled to the ground and Sherlock swung the pole back to its upright position in his hand. John gaped at him.

"And what the _hell_ is that?" He snapped, "You disappeared to steal the lamp lighter's wick thing?" Sherlock shrugged.

"It worked, didn't it? Far better than your plan would have." He responded cheekily. Madeline and Mary courteously looked away as John stormed over to Sherlock and kissed him hard. The detective let the pole clatter to the ground again, right on top of an unconscious Moriarty.

"Are we calling Scotland Yard or dealing with him ourselves?" Madeline asked. "Because honestly I'd rather be at home now." Mary smirked.

"I'll deal with him, go home." She said in a curious voice.


	12. Bomber

Bomber

"Pick up, damn you!" He growled. His ears picked up on the sound of the call connecting and he pressed the phone harder against his ear.

" _Hello?"_

"Madeline! Get out of 221B, get out of there now! He may be in the flat!" Sherlock ordered. There was a short pause before his heart stopped.

 _"Gotcha. You've reached the voicemail of Madeline Carver. I'm sorry I can't get to the phone right now; but if you-"_ Sherlock scowled and hung up, then redialed. The voicemail fooled him once more before he gave in and dialed Mycroft's number.

" _Ah, Shirley. How is-"_

"I want a bomb squad at 221B right now!" Sherlock shouted, "Round up anyone and everyone available and send it to Baker Street!" He didn't wait for his brother to respond, he hung up and raced around the corner. To his surprise, nothing was on fire and none of the windows were broken. From the street, it appeared that nothing was awry; but Sherlock wasted no time in believing that. He dashed up the stairs and farther into the Baker Street flats, then skidded to a halt when he saw that the door to 221B was ajar.

"Madeline!" He kicked the door farther open and rushed in, only to be greeted by Madeline furiously quieting him with a hand over his mouth.

"Amy is asleep!" She hissed, jerking her head behind her to indicate the child snoozing on the couch. Sherlock shook her hand off and stepped into the flat cautiously.

"There… was a bomb. And an assassin." He said. He could feel how flimsy and weak his words sounded; but his fears were reaffirmed when Madeline's eyes darkened.

"There was." She pulled the detective into the kitchen and showed him the slumped over man tied to one of the kitchen chairs with multiple tea towels. He was groaning and moving slightly, but still unconscious.

"I hit him with the candle holder." Madeline said quietly. "He was waiting when we came in."

"Did he hurt you?" Sherlock asked urgently. He slid his thumbs over her wrists methodically and swept her with his eyes to check for cuts or bruises. Madeline shook her head.

"I banged my hip on the table because I ducked with Amy in my arms to avoid him; but that's the worst of it." She assured him. "We're okay."


	13. If I Had a Little Money

Trapped Together in a Bank Robbery

Sherlock was bored. Madeline rocked on her heels beside him as she waited for the queue to progress, and he groaned under his breath.

"Can I just leave and go home?" He complained, "You don't need me to cash a check with you." Madeline frowned at him.

"I need to get my paycheck so we can afford groceries, Sherlock. You spent most of last month's budget on repairing Mrs. Hudson's window, remember?" She reminded him pointedly. Sherlock rolled his eyes, searching the vaulted ceiling of the bank for something to interest him.

"I didn't mean to break the entire window," He said defensively. "I just needed one pane and the entire thing decided to shatter."

"That's what happens when you take a hot poker iron to a window, Sherlock." Madeline said irritably. The clerk finished with one customer, and they gathered their change and left. The line shuffled forward slowly and Sherlock groaned again. Madeline sighed.

"If you're going to make annoying sounds in my ear, then just go home." She admonished. Sherlock grinned triumphantly and spun on his heel, swatting Madeline's knees with the tail of his coat as he went. She rolled her eyes and turned back to the line, impatiently resigning herself to a waiting game.

The line started moving quickly after Sherlock left, and Madeline was jokingly muttering about him being bad luck when she heard a bang. She and everyone else in the bank turned around, trying to find the source as the sound bounced off of the ceiling. Madeline caught sight of a figure standing just inside the entrance to the bank, wearing a dark coat. For a second she thought that Sherlock had returned and had done something stupid to set off the bang; but when they pulled out a gun and fired another round at the ceiling, she knew she'd been mistaken.

Some people looked around wildly, some people skittered side to side like agitated horses; but most of the people in the bank immediately dropped to the ground. Madeline hit the marble floor so hard that her teeth clacked together on the tile and her ears rang. She watched the assailant out of the corner of her eye as they swept farther into the bank. Three bank guards sprinted into the lobby, guns drawn, but were easily picked off by the semi-automatic. The people on the ground shuddered and screamed at each gunshot, and Madeline shut her eyes tightly when she heard the bodies collide with the floor.

"Nobody move!" The intruder roared, "This is a robbery!"

"No shit." Madeline muttered. She carefully lifted her head off of the ground to watch the robber stride across the marble as her hand slowly crept towards her coat a few feet away. She'd been holding it bundled in her arms; but had dropped it as soon as the gun started going off. She flicked her fingers to work her hand into the pocket of the coat, stopping whenever she heard the intruder's footsteps on the tile. From the sound of it, he seemed to have moved past her and was at the counter with the cashiers.

"Open the drawers," He demanded, "Now!" Madeline could hear the clerk fumbling with the drawer until it slid open with a clang. When she heard the rustling of bills, she assumed that the robber was busy and quickly yanked her phone out of her coat pocket and pushed it under her chest. She lay on top of it for a second, breathing heavily and quickly until she felt confident enough to pull it out and unlock it. The thought occurred to her to dial for the police; but instead she sent a text to Sherlock.

 _ **Bnk robber HELP pls asap**_

She sent the text and quickly flattened herself on the floor again as the bank robber strode past her to get to the next cashier. Madeline shoved the phone into her pocket and hoped he didn't see. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a woman in a two piece suit watching the intruder's every move. Her shoulders tensed as she slowly pushed herself off of the floor, quietly kicking off her heels beforehand. A quiet wave of breathing and hushed noises swept through the bank as he other people watched the woman slowly stand up and creep forward. In a few lithe steps, she sprang forward and latched her arm around the bank robber's neck.

He staggered backwards, involuntarily squeezing off rounds from his gun into the ceiling. Customers screamed and buried their heads under their arms as plaster and marble chips rained down; but Madeline was focused on the woman.

She was clawing at the criminal's face, trying to get a good stab at his eyes with her fingernails as her left arm still tried to constrict around his throat. With a growl, he dropped his gun and spun around in her grasp so that they were chest to chest. He raised his arms up and shoved her backwards, and she sprawled onto the ground.

Madeline raised herself into a crouch and darted towards the gun a few steps. The bank robber advanced on the woman, who stared him down defiantly and started to get up. He smirked and kicked her in the stomach, then wordlessly brought his foot down on her leg with an audible crack. The woman's scream made Madeline pause, and other people whimpered on the floor. She leaned forward to cradle her shattered leg in her arms; and the assailant hit her once more before stepping back to admire his work.

Madeline slunk forward again and was ready to make a grab for the gun when the intruder noticed a mother staring at her over his shoulder. He spun around and Madeline froze, then they both moved at once. Madeline dove for the gun, while he stormed forward. She'd just wrapped her hands around the cold metal when she saw his foot sweep into view and hit her in the face. Madeline fell backwards, clutching at her nose. She could feel blood leaking from between her fingers; but her nose didn't feel broken.

"That's real cute." The robber sneered, "Should I crack your leg too?" Madeline pinched her nose and glared at him. After all of her experiences with Moriarty and assorted crime lords, she knew better than to antagonize him with words. He huffed a laugh.

"That's what I thought. Not so firey now, huh?" He scoffed, plucking his gun from the ground and turning to the next clerk. He was about to order him to open the cash drawer when Madeline's phone buzzed in her pocket. He turned around slowly, still brandishing his gun, and Madeline felt her chest tense. Instead of reacting with more violence, the assailant was remarkably calm.

"Give it to me." He demanded, holding his hand out towards her. Madeline felt her phone vibrate again and knew that Sherlock was texting her back. She knew that she didn't need to keep her phone to make sure he was coming- he was definitely on his way; but if he'd sent her a plan then the last thing she needed was for the bank robber to read it aloud. He rolled his eyes and fired one shot into the ground by Madeline's leg. She jumped as the marble shrapnel stung her skin and quickly dug her phone out of her pocket.

"Here." She snapped bitterly, still wiping at her nose. The intruder reached forward for it, and she chucked it at him. When he stretched out to catch it, Madeline lunged to her feet and tried to ram her skull into his nose. He caught on too quickly to the move and reeled backwards so that Madeline's head caught him in the chin instead. The man stumbled backwards and lifted his gun; but Madeline dropped to the floor before he could fire at her. Once she was on the ground though, there wasn't anywhere else to go. When Madeline looked up she was staring right up the barrel of the semiautomatic, and the bank robber was grinning down at her.

"You don't have many bullets left." Someone called. Madeline felt herself sag with relief at the condescending voice as the assailant jerked backwards in surprise. "I wouldn't recommend wasting them on her," Sherlock continued, emerging from the entrance to the men's room with his hands in his pocket and a smirk on his face. Madeline felt her jaw drop.

"You son of a bitch! You were here the whole time?" She asked incredulously. Sherlock shrugged.

"I had a tip that this bank would be hit today."

"Then why did you want to leave?"

"I didn't. I doubled back to find a safe hiding place. Unfortunately the doors here automatically lock when a window is broken, so I had to circumnavigate the entire bank to get back here." Sherlock said simply. The robber tilted his head in disbelief.

"And just who the hell are you?" He asked furiously. To Madeline, Sherlock looked a little miffed.

"I can tell from your atrocious accent that you're from the bad side of town; but I know you have telly and tabloids over there. I can come over if you want a closer look." He offered, gingerly stepping over the people cowering on the floor and sweeping towards the intruder and Madeline.

"I was so worried." She breathed, not able to keep the smile off her face as he approached. Sherlock frowned at the blood drying on her face.

"You did something stupid, didn't you?" He asked flatly. He was about to take another step forward when the bank robber regained his nerve.

"Stop right there." He demanded, "You're close enough. I know who you are, Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock huffed.

"I know. The entire previous exchange was purely rhetorical to occupy you while I got closer. Don't tell me you have the IQ of a child." He snapped.

"Sherlock, maybe don't entice the man with a gun." Madeline whispered pointedly. The assailant reached down and knotted his fist in her hair, jerking her backwards across the floor. She yelped in pain, and Sherlock stopped cold when the intruder pressed the muzzle of his gun to her head.

"Like I said," Sherlock repeated lowly. "You don't have many bullets left. I wouldn't bother wasting them if I were you."

"Putting a gun to her head sure made you stop, though." The robber spat. Sherlock smiled, but his eyes didn't move.

"Fair point; but if you do harm her, you'll still have to deal with me. Except I'll be even angrier." He warned. Madeline leaned her head forward slightly, only to have it yanked backwards again. She hissed between her teeth as her eyes watered, not bothering to check the way Sherlock's eyes darkened.

"You've used about five hundred and fifty rounds so far, and your gun is capable of firing twenty-five rounds every two seconds. That's about six hundred bullets in all, and if you keep spurting off rounds like you have been, you're going to be sorely outmatched when the police get here." He said calmly. The assailant took another step back, dragging Madeline in an awkward squat-crawl position as well.

"I would highly advise against this, Roy." Sherlock said. Madeline could feel the grip on her hair loosen for a second before it tightened again.

"How do you know my name?" The intruder snarled. Sherlock's mouth bent into a smirk again, and this time the movement reached his eyes.

"I've got friends in high places," He replied. "Albeit they do live under rocks sometimes, but they serve as my connections."

"And how do you know my name?" The robber repeated, raising his gun again. Sherlock saw Madeline's eyes widen as the gun pointed itself past the two of them to the woman curled on the floor, holding her leg, and sobbing.

"I was given a tip." Sherlock said, raising his hands in a placating motion. "From your husband." Madeline could see the tip of the gun twitch, drawing gasps and whimpers from the other people on the floor. "He called me in after he was released from the ICU." Sherlock continued. "He told me about your financial troubles, and for that I'm truly sorry." Madeline risked a glance upwards and saw that Roy's eyes were flooding with tears. "We can try to find you another way to pay for the hospital bills; but until, then you can't do something as rash and stupid as this." Sherlock added firmly.

"Sherlock. Tone." Madeline murmured, noting how the grip on her hair was growing even tighter. The last thing she needed was for Sherlock to upset him further and end up with even more bodies on the floor. The only indication that Sherlock gave that he'd heard her was a small wave of his hand from beside his leg. It was almost dismissive; but at least Madeline knew he'd heard her.

"I know you're scared, Roy." Sherlock continued.

"I'm not scared, I'm bloody incensed!"

"I can see that." Sherlock said wryly before remembering his role as a negotiator. "But why don't we work on discussing a better plan instead of barging into a bank and firing off guns like some _Vatican cameo_." That was the signal, Madeline thought. Sherlock needed her to do something. She looked to him; but he was busy staring down Roy.

"What the hell are you talking about?" The intruder snapped. "What's a Vatican cameo?" Madeline twisted around underneath him until she got her legs underneath her in a crouch; but Roy didn't notice or even seem to care. Sherlock was the imminent threat, with his intimate knowledge of his family life and personal finances. However, Sherlock wasn't the biggest threat. Not anymore.

Madeline used her legs underneath her to rocket upwards, jumping straight up in the air. Her momentum, paired with Roy's hand in her hair, also pulled her backwards into him. They tumbled to the floor together and Madeline swatted the gun away towards Sherlock. He picked it up and deftly emptied the rest of the clip into the ceiling, ignoring the dust that rained down and collected in his curls. Madeline rolled off of Roy only to pin him down with her knees on his shoulders and a hand grasping his hair.

"Doesn't feel too good, does it?" She snarled. "Not so firey now." Sherlock gently pushed her away and pulled Roy up by his coat. He whipped a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and hauled the intruder to the grates separating the clerks from the lobby, then handcuffed Roy to the brass gate and left him there. When he turned around, Madeline was already trying to approach the businesswoman with the broken leg. A few other people had risen off the floor, and two of them hurried over under the claims that they were off duty paramedics. They shoved Madeline away and started to set the woman's leg, and shadows appeared on the other side of the glass doors.

The doors flew open to admit a swarm of police officers, and Madeline stepped aside so they could do their job. Sherlock stepped away to speak to Lestrade, but not before handing her a rag to mop the blood off of her face and pressing his lips lightly to her forehead. Madeline sighed and started to gingerly scrub at her nose, then went to her coat and tried to find the check she'd originally come to cash. It was crumpled and stained with a few drops of her blood; and Madeline stared at it blankly. Finally, she frowned and stuffed it in her pocket, frowned, and promised herself to come back and cash it another day.


End file.
